


The Pros and Cons of Breathing

by VivatRex



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coma, F/M, Near Death Experiences, Retrospective, Tony Angst, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1403272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatRex/pseuds/VivatRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony takes a bullet for McGee, and his life flashes before his eyes. He also runs into more than one old friend - and an enemy or two. What will he think when he sees what could have been, and what will he do when he is faced with an impossible decision? AU towards the end of Season Ten. Inspired by "Life Before His Eyes".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FFN. Written in memory of Caitlin Todd. It's one of my better stories, so hopefully you'll enjoy it!

Tony was awakened by the sound of soft snoring that was far too close to his ear for comfort. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sunlight streaming in through the windows of his living room. He shifted, realizing he was still in his work clothes from the day before. He turned his head to side with a crack, in an attempt to determine who was using him as a human pillow.

Tony observed, with both amusement and embarrassment, as McGee continued sleeping peacefully with his head resting on his shoulder, his mouth hanging open slightly as he snored. Tony glanced around the living room as the events of the day before slowly caught up to him. And when they did, they hit him like a brick wall.

_Justine Riker._

They were a good team. They really were. He, Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva, they had the best case-closed rate of any team in the entire agency. But they made mistakes. They screwed up sometimes. Sometimes, they were too late. Yesterday had been one of those times.

Justine Riker, eight-year-old daughter of Lance Corporal Jonas Riker, had been kidnapped a week ago. They had been searching frantically for her since then, and yesterday they had found her in the basement of a convicted rapist. Deceased, and with unspeakable wounds on her body. She had been dead for six hours.

It had not been a good day. Gibbs had been in a silent fury as Ducky and Palmer arrived to remove the body and take it back to NCIS, and the three underlings of the MCRT had all been taciturn on the ride home. Gibbs' driving had been even more angry and erratic than usual.

Tony and McGee had decided that a boys' night was in order, both of them in low spirits, but neither of them wanting to face their empty apartments. They had spent the night watching the original Star Wars trilogy, because that was at least one series of movies that the two men could agree on.

Many hours later, and after a plethora of beer and pizza, it appeared that they had both conked out on the couch. Tony shifted, pushing McGee off of him gently. The younger man fell back into the couch, his body twisted in an awkward position. McGee's eyes opened slowly, and he blearily looked around the room, no doubt going through the same thought process that Tony had.

He saw the memory as it hit his friend's face, and he frowned as McGee sat up. He decided to try and lighten the foul mood that was threatening to settle on both of them as the experiences of the past day hit them. "Okay, McCuddles, if one of us doesn't get a girlfriend soon, people are going to start assuming things."

"Well, people wouldn't be so quick to assume things if you hadn't convinced the entire agency that I'm gay," McGee retorted, shielding his eyes from the harsh sunlight pouring in through the large windows in Tony's living room.

"That was eight years ago, everyone's forgotten about that by now," Tony said, waving off McGee's protests as slowly rose from the couch. McGee stretched in the spot Tony had just vacated.

"Eight years ago? You told that pretty girl over in HR _last week_ that I wasn't at work because I was at a pride parade!" McGee accused, rolling over and pulling one of the sofa pillows over his head.

"Wasn't that where you were?" Tony asked as he headed into the kitchen, with the intention of trying to scrounge something up for him and McGee to eat for breakfast.

"I had food poisoning!" McGee called indignantly from the living room. Tony snorted as he rooted through the cupboards. Unfortunately, he hadn't been shopping in about a week, and they were mostly bare. He really didn't have anything to make for breakfast,.

"Speaking of food, looks like we're eating out for the most important meal of the day," he said, shutting the last cupboard and heading back to the living room, halting in front of McGee, who still had the pillow covering the back of his head. Tony promptly yanked it away and hit McGee over the head with it, Gibbs-style. "Up and at 'em, Probie!" Tony raised his voice as he said the now rarely-used nickname.

"I hate you so much right now," McGee groaned as he blinked up at him. Tony offered McGee a hand, and helped pull his friend into a sitting position.

"Someone didn't handle their alcohol very well," Tony commented with a smirk as McGee pushed himself off of the couch. McGee leveled a good-natured glare at him.

"It's your fault for offering me beer after beer. Why didn't you cut me off?"

"Because you're a lot less whiny when you're smashed," Tony said, heading towards his bedroom to change into some fresh clothes.

"Can you find something for me while you're in there? I smell like a brewery," McGee called after him after dubiously sniffing himself.

"If you don't mind them hanging off of you like rags, McSkinny," he responded, rifling through his dressers for something acceptable to where out to breakfast. He selected a brown silk button-up and his favorite pair of khakis.

He rooted through some of his older clothes, trying to find something that would fit McGee. He selected a gray tee-shirt, a suede jacket, and a pair of brown chinos. Tony hadn't worn the outfit in years, so it was slightly rumpled, but McGee was lucky he had anything that the slimmer agent could squeeze into.

Tony tossed them unceremoniously out the door, letting them fall into a pile. He heard a grunted 'thanks' from McGee as he closed off his bedroom to get changed. A few moments later, he was combing his fingers through his hair as he headed back into the living room, and McGee was straightening the jacket Tony had loaned him, looking contemplatively down at the outfit.

"This looks familiar," McGee muttered, looking up at Tony. Tony gave him a concerned look.

"Well, yeah, McGee. Probably because I've worn it before."

"No, I mean _really_ familiar," he argued, brushing past Tony to head in the bathroom, so he could get a look at himself in the full length mirror. He furrowed his brow at his reflection.

"So this is what hangovers to do you?" Tony questioned, crossing his arms. _What is up with him?_ McGee suddenly snapped his fingers, causing Tony to jump slightly. "What?" he asked, somewhat annoyed. McGee looked at him, a certain forlorn quality forming in his expressive green eyes.

"Did you ever see that picture that Kate drew of you?" he asked quietly. "Not the cartoon-y one, but the one she drew right before..." He swallowed involuntarily. "You were wearing this in the picture."

"Yeah," he replied. "The one of me at my desk with the phone... Gibbs gave it to me a little bit after Ziva joined the team. Said Kate would have wanted me to have it. I never even thought of the clothes." He shifted awkwardly, watching as McGee's eyes grew distant.

Thoughts of Kate were bound to come up at this time of year. After all, today was May 23rd. Tomorrow would be the eight year anniversary of Kate's death. _Eight years._ Some days, he could believe it was that long, when he thought of all that had occurred since her passing. Meeting Ziva. Gibbs' injury and subsequent retirement. His return. Jeanne. Jeanne leaving. Jenny's death. His time as an agent afloat. Killing Rivkin. Losing Ziva. Somalia. Paloma and Alejandro's attacks against Gibbs and NCIS. Meeting EJ. The Port-to-Port Killer. Franks' death. The bombing of NCIS. The death of Eli David and Jackie Vance.

Other days, he could have sworn on his life that just yesterday, he had been chucking balled up pieces of paper at Kate's head, going through her purse, and poking fun at her puritan ways. Sometimes, he could almost convince himself that she wasn't dead. Then he would look up, and see his favorite ex-Mossad ninja sitting at Kate's desk, and he would come back to the future like a car driving head-on into a brick wall.

Gibbs always gave them May 24th off, no matter what was happening at the agency. This was good, because every year Tony would drive from the night of May 23rd into the morning of the 24th, his destination being the cemetery in Indiana where Kate was buried eight years prior.

The only person who knew of this was Gibbs. Gibbs had his own ritual on the anniversary of Kate's death. He would visit the rooftop where she had been shot, and he would lay down a bouquet of flowers. He didn't know if he said anything, or did anything other than that simple gesture of remorse. He didn't push the subject. However, every year, on the last day of work before the 24th, Gibbs would call his name just as he made to exit the bullpen and go home.

"DiNozzo... tell her I'm sorry." He had said it yesterday before they had left work. Ziva had just looked confused at the request, and he had exchanged a mournful glance with McGee.

And he always did. Every year, he would sit at the marble stone that marked where Kate's body lay, and he would talk to her. He would tell her everything that had happened since he last visited, like catching up with an old friend. Even if she never said anything back, it still made him feel better.

"Well, come on. I'm hungry," Tony said abruptly, breaking the awkward and heavy silence that had formed between himself and McGee. McGee nodded dimly and followed Tony to the door. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and a few moments later they were in Tony's car and heading to the nearest cafe.

They found a nice little internet cafe called Perk Place a few blocks away from Tony's apartment. Together, they headed inside, finding a comfortable booth in the corner of the restaurant and taking their orders when the waiter approached. As they waited for their meals, they talked about anything and everything, as usual. Over the years, he had found that McGee was extraordinarily easy to talk to, even if he wasn't that easy to understand sometimes. They're conversation rarely lulled.

Once they had their meals (a breakfast burrito for McGee, scrambled eggs and toast for Tony) the conversation diminished slightly as Tony began wolfing down his food, his mouth not vacant enough for coherent words.

"Uh, Tony, the food's not going to run away," McGee commented, and Tony looked up from his food for a moment to look at him.

"Ermhungee," Tony mumbled through a mouth full of food, and McGee looked like he was trying to suppress a smile. Honestly, he just wanted some food in his body to get some energy. He felt particularly run down after his night on the couch, and the awful day that had preceded it. The copious amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before hadn't helped, either.

"I'll pretend I just understood what you said."

"Finbeemer."

"Right."

They ate in a companionable silence, and once they had finished their meals, they both ordered their preferred caffeinated drinks. Tony got his typical hazelnut coffee, and McGee ordered something really fruity sounding with a name far too long for Tony to bother remembering.

They sipped at their drinks, their conversation picking back up again. "So, did you talk to Gibbs yesterday before we left?" McGee questioned, blowing on his coffee in that way that annoyed Tony so, _so_ much.

"No," he replied darkly. "I wasn't going to poke the bear."

"This case has probably been even harder on him that has been on us," McGee theorized. "I mean, the girl... she was the same age as Gibbs' daughter."

Tony nodded somberly. "I know. Every time we get a case with a young girl... he sees Kelly. To him, this probably feels like he failed her all over again."

"Maybe we should go see him today," McGee suggested. "Balboa's team is on call this weekend, so we have today off."

"I don't know if you've noticed this over the past eight years, McGee, but Gibbs is a loner. We wouldn't be able to help him. He's probably down there with Fornell, downing bourbon, and commiserating about the woes of being federal agents and divorcees," he guessed, drumming his fingers on the side of his coffee cup. "At least, I hope so."

"Yeah..." McGee trailed off, distracted.

"So, what are our plans today, McGee?" Tony asked, leaning back in his chair and trying to cheer up the conversation.

" _Our_ plans?" McGee asked, an expression of both exasperation and amusement forming on his face. Tony was fairly used to receiving that look from... well, pretty much everyone.

"Oh, come on, Elf Lord. Like you've got anything better to do."

"Actually Tony, I think it's _you_ that doesn't have anything better to do," he retorted, though he was smirking slightly. Tony was about to respond when the cafe door opened with the tinkling of a bell. Tony glanced back and saw a hulking figure, hands deep in the pockets of a black hoodie, head darting from side to side.

The thing about being an NCIS agent is, you never really turn it off. When you leave work, you don't just automatically go into civilian mode. You're still watchful. Careful. Alert. Ready for anything. And if you were Tony, you never left home without your SIG strapped to your leg.

Unless of course it was today, where he had foolishly assumed that he and McGee would be safe going out for breakfast without bringing firearms. Granted, he had a knife on him, courtesy of Rule #9, but you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gun fight.

"McGee," Tony said quietly, jerking his head back to indicate the man, who was still standing near the door, fidgeting nervously.

"Can I help you, sir?" the barista at the coffee counter asked tentatively. The man didn't respond, instead diving his hand deeper into his pocket. Tony chose this moment to act. He stood up in a swift motion, McGee close behind him, and withdrew his knife from where it had been concealed on his belt. At the same time, the man pulled out a Colt .45.

There were gasps and small screams from around the cafe. He looked back at McGee, who apparently had been smart enough to bring his SIG. The younger agent withdrew and aimed it straight at the head of the man. "Federal Agent, drop it!"

The man didn't budge. "No," he whispered, his hand shaking violently as he held the gun. "You killed her," he mumbled. Tony didn't have a clue what the insane man was talking about. McGee was at his side now, moving forward cautiously. However, McGee didn't hear the man's last inaudible words. "Now I'll kill you."

Tony didn't even think, he simply reacted. He found himself sidestepping to stand in front of McGee, and his left hand pushing the younger man back. A second later, he heard the loud bang of a shot firing, and his world faded to black.


	2. The (After) Life of the Party

_His mother, taking him to the cinema as a young boy, telling him that he can't tell his father, that this was their little secret._

_Watching "Angels with Dirty Faces" the day of his mother's death, the droning sound of the doctor's voice as he gave Tony and his father his greatest sympathies._

_The fishing trip with his father, one of the first times he was actually happy following his mother's death._

_Senior informing him that he would be attending one of the best boarding schools in New England, and that he would see him again next summer._

_Being strung up by his underwear by Stinky John in front of the entire student body, being laughed at. Feeling the sting of embarrassment in the reddening of his cheeks._

_The wild initiation he had to go through to get into his fraternity._

_Saving Jason from the burning building, hearing the screams of both him and his sister as the house collapsed down around the girl he wasn't able to save._

_Graduating with a degree in physical education, then promptly enlisting in the police academy in Pittsburgh._

_His first assignment as a patrol cop._

_Peoria. Philadelphia. Finally settling down in Baltimore._

_Proposing to Wendy._

_"Leroy?" the silver-haired man didn't seem pleased with the name. "Jethro," he tried again. "Gibbs it is, then."_

_Finding out his partner was a dirty cop._

_Wendy leaving him._

_"Has anyone ever told you that you're a devious man, Gibbs?" Tony called as the NCIS agent strolled away, having pointed him toward human resources._

_"Boy, I got vision, and the rest of the world's wearing bifocals."_

_Abby hugging him by way of introduction. "Hi, you must be Tony! I had an uncle named Tony, you know. He was kind of a big guy, but he gave really great hugs. And so do you! Maybe all Tonys give great hugs."_

_"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anthony. The name's Donald Mallard, but I prefer Ducky."_

_Meeting Secret Service Agent Caitlin Todd on Air Force One._

_Shaking Stan Burley's hand, hearing him talk about working for Gibbs. "He must really like you."_

_"Of all the stupid, idiotic... if that sniper doesn't kill him, I will," he said over the walkie-talkie, his concern for Gibbs' safety eating away at his gut._

_Looking at the video footage of Ari holding Kate and Ducky hostage, of Gerald on the autopsy table, face twisted in pain._

_"Did I get him?" Gibbs asked, dazed by the shot as Tony gripped his arms, relieved that he was alright._

_"Yeah... you got him."_

_"Maybe it's like falling in love," he said quietly, looking at Kate. "It can happen like that." He snapped his fingers._

_"Case Agent at Norfolk seems pretty green," he told Kate, hanging up the phone. He hated working with rookie agents._

_"You know that urge you mentioned? I decided to go with mom."_

_"That bastard's got Kate!"_

_He and Kate giving McGee a double head-slap as a way of welcoming him to the team._

_"Oh, me? I'm Tony's wife. Yes, we've been married for several years," Kate said before pulling the phone away from her face. "Kids?" she mouthed._

_"Food fight!" Tony declared, chucking peanuts at Kate, who retaliated with carrots sticks, laughing._

_Opening the SWAK envelope, the white dust pouring out._

_"Why aren't you sick?"_

_"Because I'm stronger than you, Tony."_

_Gibbs leaning close enough to speak quietly in his hear, "You will not die."_

_"Freeze, McGee!" he yelled, catching sight of the bomb planted underneath the car after being kicked to the ground by Kate._

_"In another life, I could see myself marrying someone like him," Kate said, eliciting a smile from Tony before she poured a bottle of water over his head._

_The feel of Kate's hot blood spraying on his face._

_Holding Abby, comforting her over Kate's death. Hearing the sound of breaking glass and a bullet, throwing her to the ground. "You hit?"_

_Quickly hitting buttons on his phone to make it look like he wasn't talking to a hallucination of his old partner. "Hi. I was just-"_

_"Having phone sex?"_

_Carefully laying a rose on top of Kate's coffin._

_"Officer David is going to be staying with us for awhile," Gibbs said, strolling back into the bullpen with Ziva at his side._

_"Oh Jean-Paul, my little furry-bear," Ziva crooned before pouring ice cold water on his head._

_"Because I'm angry... I'm immature... and I like control," he said, staring through the bars of his cell at Gibbs. A moment of silence passed. "I'm not getting out of this one, am I boss?"_

_"Who would want to kill Abby? I mean, it's not like she's Tony."_

_Hearing the massive explosion, fearing that Gibbs was dead._

_"You'll do," Gibbs told him quietly, handing Tony his SIG and badge._

_"Semper Fi!"_

_"I need Gibbs's number."_

_"Your own team. Congratulations."_

_"I love you, Jeanne."_

_Diving for the gun that the drug dealer had dropped, landing a round flawlessly in his shoulder. "The next one's in your ear!"_

_"What, no balloons?"_

_"You weren't supposed to fall in love with her!"_

_Picking up the note left behind by Jeanne in her apartment. "I'm not coming back. You have to choose."_

_Tossing the letter in the fireplace._

_"I'm running out of almosts, McGee."_

_"Was any of it real?"_

_Being sure he was going to die as he dangled over the edge of the parking garage, but then feeling McGee's hands pulling him up. Sinking down next to him. "I love you, McGee."_

_"Come on boss, don't make me kiss you," he mumbled as he continued chest compressions on Gibbs. He was praying, pleading with whoever was listening that Gibbs not be dead. He couldn't be dead._

_Fumbling at Jenny's blood-soaked neck, struggling to find a pulse that he knew wouldn't be there. Picking up her ringing phone, seeing that the caller ID read "Gibbs"._

_"Nothing is inevitable."_

_The team being split up by Director Vance._

_"Love you too, Pa."_

_Returning to DC._

_"...and making me damn proud, Anthony."_

_"Are you questioning my loyalty?"_

_Michael Rivkin, standing over him with a blood soaked piece of glass. Firing three shots into his chest._

_"You risked your entire career, for what?"_

_"For you!"_

_Ziva, throwing him to the ground in Israel. Pointing her gun at him._

_"Boss? One short?"_

_"If I could drag her back, I'd do it in a heartbeat... but that's impossible. Ziva David is dead."_

_A mysterious woman with a bag over her head being placed in front of him on one of the rickety chairs. The bag is removed to show Ziva._

_"Couldn't live without you, I guess."_

_"I'm the wild card. I'm the guy who looks at the reality in front of him and refuses to accept it."_

_"Let's go home."_

_"I love you, Junior."_

_"There is always another monster," Ziva whispered as Tony cupped her cheek._

_Feeling the explosion rock NCIS, falling into Ziva, covering her body with his own._

_"Take care of each other," Gibbs told them, before exiting the bullpen to hunt down Harper Dearing._

_"Abba! Abba!" Ziva's shrill screams as she saw her father's corpse._

_"I want revenge."_

_Ziva throwing her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Aht lo levad, Ziva."_

* * *

Tony was staring at himself. Now, this was not an odd experience for someone who liked to look at themselves in the mirror quite frequently. It was more about what he was staring at that bothered him so much. He saw himself, arms spread in front of him, feet in a defensive stance, one hand thrusting backwards. McGee, frozen in mid-push, eyes wide with terror, mouth slightly open. Then, the mystery assailant, small handgun held in his grip.

The most disturbing thing was the bullet that had frozen in midair between the man in black and Tony. He stared at it for a long moment. "So that's it, huh?" he wondered aloud to the still and silent cafe. "Just like that."

"Not quite, Tony," a hauntingly familiar voice said from beside him. He jumped, immediately looking to the side. Standing next to him, looking just as he remembered her, was Special Agent Caitlin Todd. Brunette hair hung in her brown eyes, and she smiled up at him. He could _smell_ her. He could _hear_ her breathing. "You look old," she commented with a smirk.

"You look alive," he responded in a low voice. Her smirk broke into a full smile. She moved forward, reaching out a slender finger to touch the bullet suspended in midair. She flicked it away, and it fell to the ground and disappeared. She turned to look at the frozen image of Tony shielding McGee's body with his own. "I died taking a bullet for Probie. Not exactly the way I pictured going out," he admitted, watching her closely, half-expecting her to disappear.

"No one ever said anything about you being dead," Kate replied. "And I'm not that surprised," she turned to him, light from the outside streaming in and illuminating her delicate features. "You always were a hero, Tony." With that, she raised her hand and snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of bright white light. For a moment, Tony was unaware of anything, but soon, the cafe came back into focus. The sun outside of the small cafe was so bright that nothing was visible. He could no longer see himself, and he felt much more tangible now. He flexed his hands, looking around the cafe. The assailant was gone. He could still see McGee, however, sitting at a nearby table for two with Abby. His mouth was moving, and so was Abby's, but Tony couldn't hear anything that was being said.

He saw Gibbs in another nearby booth, sitting next to Mike Franks and across from Jackie Vance, who was next to her husband. He also spotted Ziva, Palmer, Ducky, and Dorneget sitting together in the booth directly next to Gibbs'. Tony rotated where he stood, trying to see all of the denizens of this freaky dream-cafe.

In the corner, two men sat at a small table. Le Grenouille read through a newspaper as Anthony DiNozzo Senior sipped at a cup of coffee. At the table that he and McGee had been sitting at previously, he saw Paula Cassidy, Jeanne Benoit, Wendy, and EJ Barrett.

At the next table, Jenny sat across from his partner from Baltimore, along with Jason and his younger sister. He gulped at the sight of the little girl, turning his eyes away and looking at the table next to them. Ari Haswari sat with Eli David, Saleem Ouman, and Michael Rivkin.

At the final table in the corner, Jonas Cobb sat across from Harper Dearing. He admitted, he was disappointed that he didn't see his mother in the crowd of people from either the past or the present, or his Uncle Clive. He supposed he couldn't have everything. He wondered where Kate had gone.

"Behind you, DiNozzo," her voice said, and he turned to see her behind the counter, leaning on her elbows and looking at him contemplatively.

"A cafe full of my friends, family, ex-loves and enemies," he mused, mimicking her position and leaning on the counter. "So, this is the after life?"

"Quit assuming that you're dead. Didn't Gibbs teach you anything?" she asked with a smug smile. God, he had missed that smile.

"It's... really good to see you again, Kate," Tony said softly, staring in to her eyes. She smiled back, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

"It's good to see you too, Tony," she said quietly. "You've grown up a lot, you know."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," he replied, glancing around the room again. "Everyone still tells me I act like a ten year old, so I just go with it."

"No, you're not the same man that I knew before I died," she told him resolutely. "Well, you weren't really a man at all before. You're an adult now."

"I was a man before!" Tony protested. "I just was little more... free-spirited."

"Uh-huh. That's not the word I would use," she retorted cheekily, before growing serious again. "Tragedy changes people, Tony."

"You... when you died, I had to grow up," he replied, looking down at his hands. "Damn shame I didn't make that decision when you were still alive to see it, huh?" he asked, smiling bitterly.

"But I did see," she argued. "I'm proud of you Tony. The 'Sex Machine' I knew back in '05 wouldn't have thrown himself in front of a bullet for McGee without a second thought." Tony shrugged, unsure how to react to her praise. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at McGee and Abby's table. "I never expected you and McGee to be such good friends," Kate admitted. "Not in a million years."

"We started to warm up to each other, over the past couple years. When Ziva went back to Mossad," he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "We both needed someone to rely on."

"He's your best friend, isn't he?" she asked. It seemed like more of a statement than a question, actually. He looked at her strangely.

"Yeah... yeah, I guess he is," he said, his voice subdued. Usually, he would have evaded, but this was Kate, whom for the time being was still alive. He wasn't going to waste this time with her dancing around her questions. "Like I've said before. Small muscles. Big brain. Heart of a lion."

"You don't regret giving your life up for him?"

"So I am dead."

"I didn't say that."

Tony turned his head, watching McGee chat animatedly with Abby. The fact was, he didn't even have to think about the answer. He already knew in his heart before his brain caught up. "He'd do the same for me," he told her, turning to face Kate. He leaned forward slightly, their faces only a few inches away. "My turn to ask a question."

"Oh?" she asked, the familiar and smug smile back on her face.

"Why are you here?" he asked, jumping straight to the point in a way that would have made Gibbs proud. Kate's smile didn't fade.

"I'm here to make you see all the good you've done. To show you how things could've turned out differently... basically, we're here to talk about your life, Tony."


	3. Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

"Now, I have something for you," Kate continued, reaching underneath the counter and handing him a menu. He eyed her suspiciously, taking the thin paper menu from her. Tony opened it up, reading the contents out loud.

"Pizza, hazelnut coffee, and lo mien," he read, glancing up at Kate. "Odd menu for a cafe, even if it's a good one. Does the pizza have extra cheese?" Kate didn't respond, but stared intently at him. "Seriously, Kate, what is this?"

"A gift," she answered cryptically.

"A gift of... what? Fast food?" he asked, gesturing down at the menu. She shook her head slowly before responding.

"The people in your life want to give you closure. They want to show you what you've done with your life," Kate explained, nodding towards the crowd of people from his past and present gathered in the cafe.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "And what exactly have I done? I'm nearly forty-five. No girlfriend. No wife. No kids. I'm still living in a one bedroom apartment and sleeping in a single bed-"

"Tony," Kate cut him off, exasperated. "You're really thick sometimes, you know. You helped solved hundreds of cases, not to mention the dozens you solved on your own when Gibbs was in Mexico. You gave families closure, answers. You put away the scum of the earth - murderers, rapists, terrorists."

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of hero," Tony replied, playing with the edge of the menu. "I'm not. It was my job. I did it. Hell, I even did it well sometimes."

"You became a cop because you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to do good with your life. Do you think you accomplished that?" she asked, and for a second he was reminded stunningly of her older sister Rachel, with the way she seemed to be trying to get into his head.

"I hope so," he replied. "Now, can we stop talking in riddles? This is giving me a headache."

"You wonder everyday what would've happened if you had done things differently, don't you?" she inquired. He shrugged.

"Everybody has regrets."

"Not even regrets, necessarily," she said, clasping her hands together. "Life is like a jigsaw puzzle. One piece is missing, and the entire thing is incomplete. If only one thing in your life had been different, everything could have changed."

"Is this going to be like _A Christmas Carol_?" Tony asked, tilting his head. "Are you the ghost of Christmas past, present, or future?"

Kate giggled slightly before lifting a hand and pointing her index finger at the door. "Come on, DiNozzo. Field trip."

"To where?" he asked as he slowly backed away from the counter, waiting for Kate to meet him on the other side. However, she didn't do so. In the blink of an eye, Kate was waiting by the door. "Very _Enter the Matrix_ ," he muttered under his breath before tailing Kate to the door. She held it open for him, and the sidewalk that should have been there was nowhere to be seen. It was just white light. "I thought I wasn't supposed to go toward the light?" he asked, looking down at Kate.

"What, don't you trust me?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips. Tony returned her smirk before plunging through the door.

Part of his mind still expected to be assaulted by the warm late spring sunlight, but he was instead met with the harsh fluorescent sky lights of the NCIS squad room. Kate was standing by his side, hand almost brushing his. He glanced around, taking the familiar four desks. He blinked when he looked at Ziva's desk, surprised at the picture that was sitting there. It was not the one of her, Ari, and her sister Tali as children... it was of him and Kate. _Why would Ziva have a picture of Kate and I?_ he wondered, coming around to the other side of the desk and picking it up.

It was just a picture of him and Kate, standing side by side. He looked younger than he was now, but older than he was when Kate was alive. But, that didn't make any sense. What also made no sense was that he didn't recall the picture being taken, and the way he and Kate were pressed to each other's sides... how his arm was over her shoulders... she was tugging at his tie playfully...

"What is this?" he whispered, taking in the rest of the surface of the desk. He noticed the absence of the Israeli flag in Ziva's pencil holder. None of her other possessions were around either. Experimentally, he tugged on one of the drawers. Upon opening it, he saw a sketch pad inside. _This can't be._ He checked the computer that was thrumming along. The background was a picture of himself, Gibbs, Kate, McGee, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, and Jenny, all well dressed and standing in a straight row. They appeared to be at a party of some variety.

_Jenny didn't become Director until the day after Kate died,_ he thought, his confusion growing. He looked at the date and time in the bottom right corner of the monitor's screen. 20:18, May 23rd, 2013. _Today?_

"You're dead," Tony said, finally looking back at Kate, who was watching him intently. "You're dead," he repeated.

"I don't have to be," she responded, reaching out a hand and offering it to him. "Can I show you something else?"

He stared at her hand blankly for a moment, still gripping the picture of himself and Kate. "I..."

"The picture will be there when you get back," she told him, and he of course believed her. He gently placed the frame back in its spot next to Kate's computer, and he grabbed Kate's hand, interlacing her slender fingers with his own. He noticed a golden band on her ring finger as a flash of white enveloped him.

When the light dissipated, he found that he and Kate were standing on a rooftop, still hand in hand. It didn't take him long to recognize the warehouse district in Norfolk, especially once he heard the familiar voice in the distance shout "Shooter!"

He could see them now, about three yards from them. Kate, jumping in front of Gibbs as the bullet hit her. Gibbs and himself both raising their guns. Gibbs emptying an entire magazine into the terrorist that had fired on them. He heard the muffled thump of the man's bullet riddled corpse hitting the hard concrete of the rooftop.

"No," he said, figuring that their past selves couldn't hear or see them. He was slowly figuring out the rules of this weird, ethereal after-life thing. "I don't want to see this again. The first time was enough, I don't need a repeat performance."

Kate tightened her grip on his hand, warmth spreading up his arm at the feeling. "I guarantee you haven't seen this part."

Gibbs raced forward, Tony following close behind. "Kate!" Gibbs called, quickly turning her over so she was face-up. Her jacket was unzipped in a moment, revealing the bullet-proof vest underneath. He heard two simultaneous sighs of relief as they saw that the bullet was embedded in the vest and not in Kate.

"You okay?" he heard himself ask.

"I just got shot at point-blank range, DiNozzo. What do you think?" she asked exasperatedly. He smiled sadly. He had missed the tone of voice that she seemed to reserve only for him. It may have been composed of mostly irritation, but nonetheless, he liked to think that there was an undercurrent of affection in it.

"You're not going to Pilates class?" he questioned sarcastically. "And that wasn't point-blank range," he added. Gibbs smirked as Tony glanced up, scanning the rooftops for remaining members of the Hamas cell. _Like I should've done the first time._

"If I shot you now, would that count as point-blank?" Kate asked, moving to sit up. He saw himself place a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently back down. He pointed towards the top of the abandoned office building that Tony knew Ari resided on. After all, he had scoured that very rooftop with McGee in the rain, searching for remains of the sniper's nest.

"Boss, I saw a glint. Could be a sniper," he informed him. Gibbs looked up and away from Kate, spotting the small figure on the rooftop, who seemed to be standing up now. Ari was giving up?

"McGee," Gibbs said into his wire. "Possible sniper. Get us air support."

"Got it, boss." Tony was confused as to how he heard this, as the wire was in Gibbs' ear. _Crazy after-life rules, I guess._

"Stay down, Kate," Tony advised. Kate seemed somewhat panicked, but followed his advice and remained on her back, Tony's hand on one of her shoulders, Gibbs' hand on the other. A few minutes later, he could hear the very distant whirring of helicopter blades. "Alright, I think he's gone," he said, helping Kate off of the ground.

"Thank God that's over," she said, running a hand through her messy brown hair. The Kate that was beside him turned to look at him, the hazy twilight sun lighting up her features, making her copper eyes glow and appear gold. A moment later, there was another flash of light.

He was sitting on the counter of the cafe now, and Kate was sitting alongside him, nursing a cup of coffee. She sipped at it nonchalantly, not seeming the slightest bit bothered by the events they had just seen.

"This is actually really good," she said, withdrawing her lips from the cup. He could smell the familiar scent of hazelnut now.

"Kate," he said, feeling as if their positions were reversed, since he was the one bringing her back on topic for once. "Ari didn't shoot you? You... you're not dead?"

"He couldn't. You saw him, Tony. You stopped him," she told him.

"But it didn't happen that way," Tony argued weakly, shaking his head. "Not in real life."

"But what if it _did_ happen that way, this time? What if you had protected me?" she asked, crossing her legs at her ankles as she continued to sip at Tony's preferred drink.

"I... I always tried to protect you," he replied. There had been no malice or accusation in her words, but they stung nonetheless.

"I know." A moment of silence passed between them.

"You're alive?"

"Yup," she said, grinning at him over her cup. He sighed deeply, images flowing into his mind of what would have been changed if Kate had never died. "How about instead of wondering, I just show you?" she asked, and he wasn't surprised that she could somehow guess what he was thinking. That was either another fixture in the nutty little after-life world, or Kate just knew him way too well for his own good.

"Alright," he agreed, and Kate drained the last dregs of her coffee and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. Tony glanced around at everyone in the room, and his eyes landed on Jenny. If Kate had been alive, would Jenny have died in the shoot-out...?

"Patience, DiNozzo," Kate said, taking his hand again and heading towards the door and back out into the alternate universe where Kate was still alive.

The white light reminded him of how he felt when he woke up in the hospital after his concussion roughly two years earlier. The harsh light burning into his sensitive corneas, and then finding himself somewhere he didn't expect to be. Such as the elevator at NCIS. He and Kate were standing directly behind... well, he and Kate. He could tell by the color and thickness of his hair that this was back in 2005. His younger self looked... nervous. He bounced slightly on his feet, sneaking looks at Kate out of the corner of his eye.

He determined that it had been only a few days tops since Kate was shot... _not shot_ , his mind corrected him. He still had dark circles under his eyes and a winded look to him, so it was uncomfortably close to his run-in with the plague, but he and Kate were wearing different clothes than they were wearing on the day of the warehouse battle and attempted attack on the port in Norfolk.

He saw himself twitch his hand before stepping in front of Kate and hitting the elevator's emergency stop button. Kate turned to him, confusion coloring her gaze. "DiNozzo, what are you doing?"

"We need to talk," he said seriously, as if he was drumming up the courage for something. He moved to stand in front of Kate, who looked up at him with a worrying expression.

"About...?"

"I almost died," he began, but he didn't seem to know where to go from there. "And... then _you_ almost died."

"I know, Tony. I was there," Kate deadpanned. He sighed, running a hand nervously through his hair. He could see that the suave persona that his younger self often put up was slowly melting off.

"I mean... it's made me realize some things," he continued slowly. Kate merely arched a bemused eyebrow at him.

"Such as...?" she trailed off, waiting for him to elaborate. Tony glanced at the Kate standing next to him.

"Am I about to ask you out?" he whispered, even though the other two couldn't hear him.

"Just watch," she replied with a knowing smile, gesturing at their two counter parts. He watched himself place a hand on the side of Kate's face. He was starkly reminded of when he had done the same to Ziva on several occasions with the intent to comfort her. _You know, I think Kate and Ziva would've liked each other._

"What are you doing?" Kate asked quietly, but she didn't force him to remove his hand.

"Kate, we could both die any day. That's how it works when you're an NCIS agent. I'm done wasting time. You only live once, right?" he licked his lips apprehensively. "I guess what I'm trying to say here, Kate, is..."

"Do you like me, DiNozzo?" Kate asked, cocking her head to the side slightly. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, and Tony had to admit he felt a thrill of anticipation in his stomach as he waited to see his younger self's next move.

"...yeah. I guess I do."

Silence. He could have heard a fly screaming if he had wanted to. He watched as his other self brushed a thumb across Kate's brow, waiting for her response.

"I've been doing some thinking too," she replied finally. "When you were..."

"Dying?" he filled in, and she winced noticeably, and she reached up and grabbed his hand. However, she didn't pull it away, but instead clasped it with her own.

"It was terrifying. But it made me realize that in spite of the fact that you are immature, annoying, infuriating, chauvinistic-" she listed, and he sighed slightly.

"Waiting for the 'but' here, Katie."

" _But_ ," she emphasized. "I did mean those things I said the other day when McGee and I played that joke on you. You're charming. Smart, even if you don't act like it. You're funny-"

"And hot? I remember hot being mentioned," he pointed out, his typical shit-eating grin forming on his lips. She punched him in the ribs with her free hand, and he let out a squeak as he winced.

"And hot," she admitted.

"So, does this mean that you and I are... you and I?" he questioned, reaching out tentatively to hold her free hand with his. Tony looked down at his and Kate's own interlocked hands. He gave her hand a squeeze, which she returned.

"I think it does," Kate said softly. "But there's one problem."

"Rule twelve," they chorused.

"Boss will kill us," he observed, though he didn't seem as troubled by that as he should be. He took a step closer to her.

"He might even fire us," Kate said in an agreeable tone.

"It could end badly."

"Nightmarishly bad."

"There'd be a lot of hurts feelings. We might not be able to work with each other anymore."

"We might end up hating each other." The two of them continued staring at each other, both of them appearing to consider all of these very valid, reasonable points.

And then, they kissed.

Tony looked over at his Kate, who he was unfortunately not kissing, and smirked at her. "So, I get the girl?" he asked tentatively, half looking at her and half looking at their younger selves exploring each other's mouths.

"You do," she replied, turning slightly to face him.

"Question is..." he trailed off. "Do I keep the girl?" Kate tightened her grip on his hand.

"Be patient, Tony. There's another woman you need to worry about right now."


	4. Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over

A moment later, after yet another white flash, he found his feet on solid ground once again, his fingers still intertwined with Kate's. After blinking away the momentary confusion that came from the crazy alternate-universe-time-traveling thing, he realized he was in the observation room at NCIS. Looking through the one way mirror, he saw Ziva sitting at the interrogation table, restlessly tapping her fingers on the cool metal, looking none too happy to be there.

It was not the Ziva that he knew. Her deep brown eyes were bordering on lifeless. They didn't hold the spark, the light that they usually did. Her dark, curly hair was wild and cascaded over her shoulders, instead of straightened and neatly combed like she kept it in his world. She didn't look like the young woman barely out of her teens that he had met in 2005 either.

"I don't know whether to ask what, why, or when," Tony said to Kate.

"It's 2009," Kate answered. "As to why and what, you'll see in a moment."

Tony turned when he heard the door to the observation room open, and in walked Vance and himself. He couldn't help but notice the thick golden band on his own ring finger. _So I did keep the girl,_ he thought triumphantly. He had married Kate... he had never pictured himself as a married man, but the idea of waking up every morning next to Kate was definitely a nice one.

"I hate to throw something like this at you right after your honeymoon, but you're the only one who has much in the way of experience with her," Vance said, halting only a few feet away from himself and Kate. The other version of himself tailed Vance, standing slightly behind the director and looking over his shoulder at Ziva, whose eyes were flitting around in what he guessed was an attempt to figure out how to either a) turn something in the room into a weapon or b) escape.

"No problem, director," he said. "You know how much I love Mossad." His other self's sarcasm was not lost on him.

"Just be careful. She's dangerous. Don't let your guard down for a second," Vance warned seriously. Tony smirked in response, waggling his hand that wore the shiny new wedding ring.

"Dangerous women are my specialty." Vance rolled his eyes at this, but he nodded to the interrogation tech to start the recording and the video.

"Go, find out what you can, but don't show your entire hand."

"Do I ever?" Tony asked, before darting out of the room with a confident jaunt. He couldn't help but notice how much more natural this version of himself seemed with Vance. Even now, after working under him for going on five years, he didn't have the kind of repertoire with the director that Gibbs did, but his other self seemed to.

A moment later, he saw himself reappear in the interrogation room, smiling down at Ziva, who glared up at him. "It's been a while, Tiva," Tony said, beginning a circuit around the Israeli, pacing around her and the table, stalking like a lion. He knew the technique, as he used it so often. It made the suspect feel unsafe, cagey. Hunted. You wanted them on edge, unsettled. It was the best way to get information.

"Ziva," she corrected in a tight, irritated voice. "My name is Ziva David."

"Right, right," he said with a falsely apologetic nod. "I followed you around for a couple days, once. Pizza in the rain. Good times."

"I see that I left an impression," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair, seeming angry, but not exactly concerned with the current situation. "I cannot say the same about you."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure," he replied, stopping right behind her. Another tactic. Stand in their blind spot, make them paranoid. Ziva compensated by leaning back farther in her chair, bending her head back so she could still watch him. "Well, you're going to remember me after today, Ziva David. You're going to remember Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo... the man who broke you." He shivered at the tone of his other self's voice. He never spoke to Ziva like that. Ever.

In response, Ziva laughed. He could see himself arch an annoyed eyebrow down at her. "You must not have dealt with Mossad very much if you think you have the faintest hope of getting any information out of me." He saw a spark of rage come to life in his eyes as she said this.

"Oh, I've dealt with Mossad," he put a hand on either side of her chair, with the intention to make her feel trapped. "Particularly your brother, Ari." He could see the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw at the mention of his name. "He tried to kill my wife, you know that? My best friend, too. But hey, my boss put a bullet through his brain, so no harm done, right?"

He saw something in Ziva's eyes then that he'd only seen one other time. In Tel Aviv, when she threw him to the ground and pulled her gun on him. Deep, pulsing, uncontrollable rage. He had a feeling that in this universe, she had that look much more often. _Is this what she would've become if she hadn't come to NCIS?_ he wondered in the back of his mind.

His other self placed a hand on Ziva's shoulder, another strategy that he had seen Gibbs employ on many occasions, and which he used himself every now and then. However, at that moment, touching the pissed-off Mossad operative was not in his best interest. Without hesitation, she grabbed his forearm and yanked hard, sending him forward with a look of comical surprise.

In a flash, Ziva's practiced hands were on his chest and pushing him up and over her, sending him crashing into the interrogation table, which he quickly slid off of and collided with the floor, eliciting a groan from him. Ziva was out of her chair, yanking him up before he even knew what was going on. Vance stood stock still next to himself and Kate, watching impassively. He didn't seem worried.

"Shouldn't he do something?" Tony asked in a whisper, even though he was perfectly aware that no one could hear them.

"Just watch," Kate said, nodding towards the interrogation room.

He was on his feet now, but also prepared this time. He grabbed Ziva's arm and twisted it around her back. Before she could get a kick in on his shin, he had her pinned against the wall, his chest pressed up against her back, her forehead resting against the cool glass of the one way mirror.

"Nice job, really got the jump on me back there," Tony said in a low voice, seeming to tighten his grip, twisting her arm just enough to make her wince. "I can add assaulting a federal agent to your rap list, hold you for a little longer. Which is great, you know." Tighter. "Gives us more time to talk."

"I did not realize that the Americans employed such methods in interrogations," Ziva retorted.

"Oh, you'll learn all kinds of things about the good ol' US of A with us, Officer David," he said, and Tony was a little scared of the smirk he saw on his own face. He leaned closer, whispering in Ziva's ear, barely loud enough to catch. "Now, you're going to tell me everything you know about Michael Rivkin, and maybe we'll let you run out of here and back to your daddy in Tel Aviv. Deal?"

Ziva jerked her arms, trying to escape Tony's iron grip. Even though her fighting skills far surpassed his, he still had size and brute strength on her. "I do not run."

"Funny, you seemed real keen to get out of here once you found out that your brother was a traitor," he commented idly, mouth still close to her ear.

"Kate," Tony said, turning to his old partner, whose eyes were locked on himself and Ziva. "I don't want to see this." She didn't respond. "Kate, I'm serious."

"Okay, Tony," she said softly, and the white flash visited them again.

They were back to the cafe, and he was sitting on the floor, his back against the counter, with Kate at his side. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. God, seeing Ziva like that... seeing the Mossad in her turned up to eleven... seeing himself treat her like they were enemies, regarding each other with cold disdain... seeing what she would've become if she hadn't joined the team, if Somalia hadn't happened-

_Somalia!_

"Somalia," he said, echoing his thoughts as his eyes burst open. "Kate, what about Somalia? What happened to Ziva?"

The look on Kate's face was an answer all by itself. He winced as a powerful wave of emotion hit him hard, and he finally released Kate's hand, letting his head drop into his hands. _Kate lives, Ziva dies? What the hell kind of trade is that? I gain one partner, lose the other?_ He remembered vividly the feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was falling, falling into a dark deep pit. How he had felt when he had been told that Ziva was dead, before he, McGee, and Gibbs had gone on their suicide mission to Somalia.

"Tony?" a voice asked, and he let his eyes open, and he saw a pair of slim legs clad in khakis in front of him. Looking up, he was met by the familiar green eyes of ex-NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard. She smiled down at him. "I think you should get up off of the floor."

He stared at her for a long moment. He hadn't time to linger over her when he had first found himself in the strange after-life cafe, but now that she was right in front of him, he could take in her appearance. She looked just as she did the last time he saw her, only suffused with a warm glow. There was no tint of worry, of pain, of fear in her expression. She seemed at peace. He had never seen her at peace in life.

"Jenny..." he trailed off, eyes never leaving hers. He shook his head slightly, two words that had been in his throat, burning for five years to be said, escaped his mouth. "I'm sorry."

She offered him her hand slowly, and he took it. She helped him off of the floor. However, she released his hand once they stood. He missed the feel of Kate's fingers gripped with his. "Rule six," Jenny reminded him gently, still smiling at him.

"Not between friends," he responded. "It's good to see you again, Director."

"I'm not your director anymore, Tony. I haven't been in a long time," she told him, gesturing to an empty table that he hadn't remembered being there before. He followed her to the window side booth, sinking down across from her.

"You'll always be director to me," Tony cracked, smirking at her slightly. His eyes wandered around the cafe. The same people were still there, but he saw no sign of Kate.

"Kate will be back later, don't worry," she told him, alleviating his fear. "But I wanted a chance to talk to you."

"Okay," he said slowly, folding his hands in front of him. "So, in this crazy alternate universe where Kate is alive and Ziva is..." He gulped involuntarily. "Ziva is dead, where do you fit in? Did you survive the shoot-out?"

"Well..." Jenny looked towards the window, and the sunlight streaming in suddenly became much more intense. _Blazing white light,_ he mused as he felt himself become fainter, the strange feeling of being much lighter than he actually was enveloping him. _Pretty cliché, if you ask me._

He was in the back of the red convertible that he had rented when he, Ziva, and Jenny had been in LA for Decker's funeral. He and Jenny were in the backseat, with his other self and Kate in the front, with Tony driving.

"Come on, Kate, you heard the director," Tony whined, steering lazily around a corner.

"Tony," Kate said sharply. "Something's not right. You can't tell me you don't feel it. Wherever Director Shepard is, we need to find her _now_."

"Isn't it Gibbs' job to go with his gut?" Tony asked tiredly, peering at Kate over his sunglasses. Kate glared at him.

"It's _our_ job to protect her. What's the worst she can do to us if we're wrong and she's totally fine? We're just trying to do our jobs."

"The worst she can do?" Tony laughed. "Um, fire us, maybe? I hope you realize that outside of being feds, we don't have many applicable talents-"

"She wouldn't fire us, not for trying to watch her back," Kate said. "I'm calling Abby. She's going to trace the director's cell. Then, you're driving to wherever she happens to be. Got it?" she asked, copper eyes leaving no room for argument. _Weird,_ he thought. _Why would she call Abby instead of McGee?_

Tony sighed heavily. "And if I don't?"

"We'll be sleeping in separate rooms tonight," she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"Fine, fine," Tony snapped. "Call her. But later, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when Jenny has our hides for interrupting her romantic getaway."

"It always comes down to sex with you, doesn't it?" Kate said, but she said this with a smirk. She took out her phone, and a moment later was speaking to someone on the other end. "Abs, we need a favor... no, we're fine, it's Director Shepard we're worried about... we found a dead body twelve feet from her car... right. Can you trace her cell? Thanks, Abby." There was a pause as he guessed Abby began tracing Jenny's cell. "The highway? How far along? Okay, we'll keep you updated. And is there any chance you can not tell Gibbs about this? We owe you one." With that, Kate hung up the phone.

"She's traveling on Route 14, about ten miles from here, at least that's where her cell phone was when it was last on. Book it, we can try and catch up with her," she ordered, and Tony dutifully obeyed.

"Man, she's got me whipped," he observed, glancing sideways at Jenny, who laughed at his comment.

"Well, at this point, you've been together for almost three years. You're serious. When a man's serious about a woman..." she trailed off, arching an eyebrow at him. He snorted.

The four of them rode along for the next fifteen minutes, with Kate occasionally calling Abby for updates on Jenny's location. Soon they found themselves on a dusty highway, heading in the direction of the diner that Tony knew the shootout took place in. He spotted a black car traveling close ahead of them. _Are those the men that killed Jenny...?_

"Tony," Kate said in a low voice. "Get us closer to that guy."

"You don't think-"

"I do. We're not the only ones following the director," she said, reaching into her holster and withdrawing her SIG. Tony sped up the car, one hand on the steering wheel, the other one mirroring Kate and grasping his side arm. They were within ten feet of the vehicle now.

"You see anything?" he asked, and Kate shook her head.

"Tinted windows," she muttered, narrowing her eyes at the black SUV. "This can't be a coincidence." Before Tony could respond, all of the windows on the car slid down. Men leaned out of each window, assault weapons in hand.

"Shit!" Tony exclaimed, trying to weave as a hail of bullets came crashing down on them. "Kate, get down!"

He immediately went to duck, the natural response when people are firing at you, but Jenny's serene expression reminded him that he couldn't be hurt by the rounds being fired at his other self and Kate.

Kate had completely ignored Tony's command, and instead was balancing precariously on the passenger seat, firing as fast as she could over the windshield. With a spray of blood and a groan, she dealt with the man from the car who had been firing on them before moving on and firing on a second. Tony targeted the man leaning out of the passenger seat window, trying to balance driving and shooting.

He could see the diner up ahead now. The SUV drove swiftly into the dusty pull off that he guessed was supposed to be a parking lot. Tony did the same, not bothering to actually park the car, just braking and jumping over the driver's side door. Kate did the same, and soon the two of them were standing in front of the car, side by side, weapons leveled at the vehicle

From the vehicles emerged eight men, heavily armed. "You ready for this, Katie?" Tony asked. She shook her head.

"I always knew we'd go down like this," she responded.

"Together?"

"Yeah."

"I love you, Kate."

"I love you too, Tony."

Then, the shoot-out began.


	5. This Isn't a Scene, It's an Arms Race

All eight men raised their rifles at the same time, unloading their clips at Tony and Kate, who both dodged to the side. Tony fired off a round at what he remembered to be the leader of the band of mercenaries, leaving a bloody hole in a chest and sending him flying backwards. Tony took cover behind the red convertible, which was slowly but surely starting to bear a startling resemblance to Swiss cheese. Kate strafed behind one of the SUVs, reloading her SIG.

He and Jenny were still in the backseat of the convertible. Several bullets had gone straight through him, and it was one of the oddest feelings he could ever remember having experienced. He watched as Kate darted out from behind one of the parked cars, pistol-whipping the back of one of their assailants head and sending him to the ground. Unfortunately, his friend nearby turned around in a flash, and it look like Kate was going down.

That was until two loud shots rang out, ending the man before he could squeeze the trigger. Beyond Kate, he saw Mike Franks standing next to Jenny, a revolver held aloft, and Jenny held her SIG Sauer in her slender hand. The three remaining men all turned around at once, and Tony took the opportunity to dispatch two of them with bullets to the backs of their heads. Mike fired off a shot at the last remaining man before he could even bring up what looked like an AK-74 to fire, obliterating the top of his head.

There was a moment of silence. Tony could smell the coppery scent of blood on the wind. There were hundreds of little gold shells scattered around the mass of parked cars. He watched as himself and Kate stared at Mike and Jenny. Finally, Mike let out a rasping laugh that echoed in the dusty desert silence.

"Well damn, that went a hell of a lot better than I thought it would!" he cackled, spinning his revolver like a gunslinger.

"Agent Todd, Agent DiNozzo," Jenny greeted, raising a hand and giving them a wave as Kate straightened, and Tony rose from his cover, holstering his gun. "For once, I'm glad you disobeyed my orders."

"Anytime, director," Tony said with a grin, walking towards the front of the dilapidated diner, placing his hand on the small of Kate's back as he passed her, the two of them walking side by side to meet Mike and Jenny. "Care to fill us in?"

"You lived," he said, back in the convertible. Jenny nodded.

"I did - for a time," she answered, green eyes fixed on the four of them convened in front of the diner.

"For a time?" Tony echoed. "I don't like the sound of that. Am I missing something here?" Jenny's expression turned forlorn at his question.

"Have you ever heard of the disease Huntington's Chorea?" she asked. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "It's a genetic disease, it generally comes to critical mass between the ages of thirty five and forty. It starts out with shaking, muscle weakness, headaches, and it degenerates from there. It generally ends with flailing and complete loss of the control of the limbs, the regression of mental faculties, followed sometimes by coma and ultimately... death."

Tony stared at her disbelievingly. "And you... you had this? You said it's genetic, did you always know that it would happen?" She shook her head in response.

"No. My mother died when I was very young, I don't even remember her, and my father never told me that it was Huntington's. He might not have even known himself. I had Ducky test me a few months before the shoot-out at the diner, when I started experiencing the first symptoms. He ran my blood, and it came back positive for Huntington's. He got me on a medication plan, but it wasn't likely to help. There is no cure for Huntington's."

Silence between the two of them. Tony stared at the blazing desert sun, which was not burning at his eyes as it should have been. "How long?"

"I think it would be better if I just showed you," she said. Then, the white flash enveloped them once more, taking them away again. This time, it took him a few moments to recognize where they were. Beeping machines. The strong, sterile scent. Stark white walls.

They were in the long-term ward at Bethesda. He and Jenny were standing over another version of herself. The Jenny on the bed was a waif, paper-thin and pale as a ghost. dark circles hung under her closed eyes, and an oxygen mask was fixed on her face. Dozens of tubes led in and out of her.

"This is roughly three years after the battle at the diner," Jenny told him quietly, her eyes tracking to the man sitting at her bedside.

It took Tony a moment to recognize it to be Gibbs. He was hunched over in the chair, chin resting on his hands, staring forlornly at what was left of Jenny. His ice blue eyes were dull, lost. He looked like he did right after Kate's death. Hating himself, hating the world. The thick beard he had adopted during his retirement was back, white and covering the lower half of his face. His hair was shaggy, the Marine cut a thing of the past. His clothes were rumpled, and he looked as though he hadn't slept in days.

"What's happened to him...?" he said, looking between the shadows that used to be his boss and boss' boss.

"The day after the shoot-out, Jethro and I had a conversation we should've had years ago," she said, walking forward to stand behind the man in question. "We... resumed our relationship. He was well-aware that I would degenerate rapidly, but he chose to stand by me. He always was a masochist." She frowned, reaching out to touch him. Her hand went straight through him, and she sighed. "I started losing control of my physical and mental faculties around Christmas of this year."

"Merry Christmas," Tony muttered darkly. "The coma?"

"Easter," she responded. "The doctor's told him there's no hope. It's been two months. He only leaves to get more clothes from his house and shower. Typical Marine," she said, a sad smile playing on her lips.

"Semper Fidelis," Tony whispered, looking at his boss.

"Always Faithful," Jenny translated. "Naturally."

Before he had a chance to say more, he heard the door opening behind him, turning, he saw himself walk in. He looked a little different than he did at this time in his world. His brown hair was slicked back, he was a tad more muscular, and of course he had the golden wedding band on his finger. He also looked more worn down than he ever recalled himself looking.

His other self halted at the foot of Jenny's bed, eyes downcast.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked, his voice hoarse. Tony's eyes lifted to meet his boss'.

"I'm coming to take you home. Permanently," he said lowly. Gibbs glared at him.

"Not going home," he shook his head.

"You've been sitting here for two months, waiting. For what?" Tony asked. "Waiting for her to wake up? You know that's not going to happen. Are you waiting for her to die? Why torture yourself?" He received no answer from the taciturn agent. "Why the hell are you here, Gibbs?"

"What are you trying to say, DiNozzo?" he asked, lifting his eyes to Tony's.

"I told you. I'm taking you home. You've spoken to the doctors. She's not coming back from this. She's gone, Gibbs. Has been for months. You're not supporting anyone, you're not faithfully staying at her side-"

"She's not gone-"

"She's _dead_!" Tony yelled, banging his fist on the railing of the bed. "She's been dead since Easter. She's was born with an expiration date stamped on her foot, and it's passed. You loved her, I get it, I really do-"

"So you're telling me that if Kate was lying here, you'd leave her? You'd treat her like a dead body and leave her alone?" Gibbs asked, his voice raising as he rose from his chair, stalking towards Tony.

"Kate wouldn't be lying there. When the doctor's told me that she was gone, that there was no chance of her coming back, I'd have treated her body with some respect and pulled the plug, instead of just keeping it around as some sick kind of comfort for me," he said, not even flinching under Gibbs stare. _When did I get this brave?_

Gibbs' face twisted with rage, and his hands launched out and grabbed the front of Tony's suit, bunching it in his hands and dragging DiNozzo closer. "Sick kind of comfort?" he repeated in a deadly whisper. "I love her."

"I know," Tony responded, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Gibbs seemed a few seconds away from strangling him. "I know you do. Now it's time for you to prove it."

"I've been proving it!" he yelled. "I won't leave her!"

"It's not _her_! It hasn't been _her_ in months! Jenny wouldn't want this, she wouldn't want you to waste away next to a shell of her! You know she wouldn't!" he replied, his and Gibbs' faces only a few inches away from each other. Gibbs' grip tightened, and to Tony's surprise, he saw that his other self was lifted a full inch off of the floor. His eyes widened.

"You don't know what she'd want," he said, each word its own paragraph.

"But you do," Tony said, putting his hands over Gibbs and trying to pry them loose. He failed. "This isn't you. You know what needs to be done."

Gibbs and Tony stared at each other for an indeterminable amount of time, blue boring into hazel, a battle of wills. Finally, Gibbs released Tony, letting the other agent's feet touch the ground once more. Gibbs sank back into the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor, his head falling into his hands. "I can't."

"You can," Tony said, kneeling down in front of him. "I'm here with you, boss. You've got to let her go."

"I..." his head rose from his hands, his eyes level with Tony's.

"I'll get the doctor."

White light. _Thank God, I didn't know how much more I could take of that._ Seeing Gibbs so lost, seeing Jenny as nothing more than a ghost in a hospital gown, then, the confrontation between himself and Gibbs... damn, that was scary. In real life, would he have even had the balls to stand up to his boss like that?

He found himself at the booth in the cafe again, but this time he was alone. He glanced around. This time, he saw no sign of Kate or Jenny in the cafe, though all of the other familiar figures from his life were there. He had a feeling if he tried to talk to them, he would not succeed.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a light tap on his shoulder. A bowl of popcorn was served in front of him by a slender hand. He glanced up, and his heart skipped several beats. The woman looked incredibly familiar. She had curly light brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and almond shapes eyes that were an identical shade of hazel to his own hidden behind thick eyelashes. She was slender, and dressed in the same outfit he had seen the barista in earlier. She smiled warmly down at him. A single mole dotted her upper lip. Her nametag read 'Rebecca'.

"It's your favorite. Cheese and garlic," she provided, gesturing towards the popcorn. _It can't be..._

"Mom?" he whispered, his voice sounding like that of a small child. She smiled warmly at him, her hand cupping the side of his face, brushing a thumb over his eyebrow.

"God, you've grown up so much," she said, laughing a little. "You look just like your father. I'm not sure whether that's a blessing or a curse."

"But I've got your eyes," he replied. "Dad and Uncle Clive always said that I had your eyes."

"You do, you do," she said, removing her hand and sliding into the other side of the booth. "You had the most beautiful baby blues as a child, but the hazel fits you."

Tony couldn't take his eyes off of her. His mother. The mother he hadn't seen since he was ten years old. The mother that he missed everyday of his life. The mother that had tried to give him the best childhood he could. The first of the many women in his life he had lost.

"Mom... it's..." he trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. He felt a hot burning at the corners of his eyes, and he quickly swiped it away.

"Adopting your father's old mantra of 'DiNozzos don't cry', I see," she observed. He smiled in response.

"DiNozzos don't cry, and they don't pass out," he recited dutifully. "Got to bring honor to the family name."

"Of course," she replied, grinning at him. They both sat there for a moment, just staring at each other wondrously. She reached out, laying a hand over top of his. "Tony, I am so proud of you. Of the little boy I knew, and of the brave man you've become. In spite of everything, you turned out so well."

"I'm guessing that by 'everything' you mean..." he nodded towards where his father sat across from Renee Benoit.

"He tried with you, Tony," she sighed, looking at her ex-husband. "He really did. He just was never equipped to handle a child, especially not a ten year old boy who just lost his mother."

"Trying isn't the word I would use," Tony responded dryly, looking away from his father and back at his mother. "He shipped me off to the nearest boarding school and was done with it from there. He didn't start trying until the past few years."

"Better late than never, don't you think?" she asked. "Well, Anthony may have not been the kind of parent he could've been, but I don't think you got shortchanged in the father department." She smirked at the confused expression on his face. She lifted a finger and pointed behind her shoulder to the table where Gibbs sat with Vance, Jackie, and Franks. "What's a father? A man who you look up to, who you just want to make proud of you. Someone who'll be there to catch you when you fall, someone who will always be there for you no matter how bad you mess up. Someone who will guide you, shape you."

To Tony's surprise, Gibbs' eyes lifted to meet Tony's. Apparently the people in the cafe were somewhat aware of his presence. Gibbs gave him his classic half-smile. "Boss..."

"That sounds like a father to me, don't you think?" his mother asked. "Anthony may not have always been there, but once you met Gibbs, you had a father. I wish I had the chance to meet the man. To thank him."

Tony contemplated his mother's words. He had always considered Gibbs to be a father figure of sorts. It wasn't until that moment, though, that he realized Gibbs was unequivocally, in every sense of the word, his father. Though they shared no biological bonds, Gibbs had always been what a father was supposed to be.

_Maybe I didn't lose out that bad,_ Tony pondered. _Senior might not be winning any Father-of-the-Year awards, but I have Gibbs. That's something._ Then, another thought occurred to him. _Have I ever thanked him?_

"There'll be time for that, still," his mother said, reading his thoughts as everyone here seemed capable of doing. "I'm sure you've got a lot of questions right now."

He nodded. His head had been buzzing since he had found himself in the ethereal cafe. Ari failing to kill Kate had caused a ripple effect that seemed to impact the lives of everyone at NCIS. However, everything was a messy jumble inside of him mind at the moment, and he couldn't pick out anything in particular to ask about. _I haven't seen hide or hair of McGeek in any of these visions,_ he realized.

"Tim," he said. "How's he doing in this alternate universe thing?"

His mother avoided his eyes. "Keep in mind, when Gibbs retired in 06, you and Kate came clean to Jenny about your relationship. Do you know what that means?" she asked slowly. Tony stared blankly at her. "Okay, I guess not. Think, Tony. Who would've been given the undercover mission with Jeanne if you'd been in a committed relationship?" his mother asked.

Tony's eyes widened in realization. "McGee."


	6. You're Crashing, But You're No Wave

His mother nodded. "Yes. McGee was given all of the undercover missions that you were assigned that entire year."

"But McGee had almost no undercover experience!" Tony protested. "There's no way Jenny would trust him to go that deep into cover."

"I think the years have fogged your memory a little, dear. Don't you remember how invested Director Shepard was in her vendetta?" she asked.

"Vividly," he muttered. "I was dodging bullets left and right that entire time, and I was the team's undercover specialist. How the hell did McGee survive that?" His mother pursed her lips in response, brushing her thumb over the top of his hand, her brow creased. She was holding back. "Oh no."

White light. Apparently it was time for showing, not for telling. He found himself and his mother in MTAC, a fact in itself that seemed very strange. He could see Kate, himself, Jenny, and Gibbs standing in the lower portion of the dark room, staring up at the center screen. Kate was at one of the computers, and he was standing in between Jenny and Gibbs.

"Timothy McGregor?" Tony mused. "That's beautifully creative, who's bright idea was that?"

"Mine," Jenny responded tightly, eyes trained on the screen. They were following what Tony recognized to be McGee's Porsche via traffic cams. The grainy footage was tracking it all through downtown DC.

"It doesn't look like he's under duress," Kate commented, narrowing her eyes at the computer in front of her. He wondered curiously if somewhere along the lines, Kate had picked up some computer skills from McGee. "I can't tell if he's being followed or not."

"Look harder," Gibbs responded.

"Wait a minute," he said, glancing sideways at his mother. "I didn't really get blown up, does that mean that McGee-" Tony was cut off before he could finish his statement, as there was a loud explosion on the screen, eliciting a gasp from Tony, Kate, Gibbs, and Jenny.

"Tim!" Jenny's voice cracked, green eyes widening.

"No," Kate whispered, horrorstruck. "Oh my God, no."

"McGee..." Tony trailed off, looking up at the screen in horror. The Porsche was nothing more than burning remains, now. A charred corpse was visible in the driver's side seat.

Gibbs said nothing, but his accusing and rage-filled glare that was directed at Jenny spoke volumes. Tony laid a hand on the nearest desk, using it to support himself as he continued to blink uncomprehendingly up at the screen.

Suddenly, they were whisked away from MTAC. He came to a little faster than usual this time. He and his mother were in autopsy now. He saw Gibbs standing over a burned and charred corpse, Ducky at his side, gripping an X-ray in his hand.

"Are you sure, Duck?" Gibbs ground out, looking as close to nauseous as he had ever seen the older agent. He was losing control. Gibbs never loses control. 

"Unfortunately, the dental records have proven that this..." he gestured to the burned out corpse on the table, which was scarcely more than a pile of charred skin and bone. "is Timothy." He let out a deep sigh. "I'm so sorry." Gibbs jaw tensed noticeably, and his fists clenched at his sides. "Jethro... what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find out who the hell is responsible for my agent's death," he responded tightly. "And I'm going to kill them," he said, before storming out of autopsy. Ducky sighed once more, looking much older than usual as he looked down at McGee's remains.

"I am sorry, Timothy, you were far too young for this. There was so much more you could have done with your life, so much wasted potential..." Ducky bent down lower, as if to whisper in the corpse's ear. "However, trust that your death will not be in vain. If Le Grenouille is behind your demise, his days, or rather hours, are numbered."

White light flashed in his vision once more, and he was back in the booth at the cafe, his mother across from him. He stared down at his hands, and the tears that had been threatening to spill from his eyes earlier finally trailed down his cheeks. He let out a shaky breath. If anyone but his mother had been with him, he would've been ashamed, but he had never been afraid to cry in front of her.

"People who bottle it up, who are too afraid to show how they're feeling, that's cowardly. The ones who cry, who aren't afraid, they're the brave ones," Rebecca said kindly, reaching across the table to cup the side of his face, brushing away one of his tears.

"You always used to say that when I was a kid," he responded, sniffling slightly in a way that made his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He shook his head. "He's dead?"

"If Kate lived, then yes. McGee would have died undercover. You left the hospital the morning after you and Jeanne were held hostage by the drug dealer with Le Grenouille. Tim left in his own car, even when Le Grenouille insisted otherwise... his own car that Trent Kort rigged with explosives," she told him, and his vision blurred as more moisture formed in his eyes. He dragged a hand across his eyes. McGee and Ziva both? How in the hell was he supposed to accept that?

"God, McGee's dead... What the hell was Jenny thinking, letting him take on that assignment?" he muttered before looking up from his hands and meeting his mother's eyes. "Please tell me that Gibbs killed the limey bastard," Tony said, his voice trembling. "Please."

"He did," his mother responded. "Covertly, too, but under the FBI's scrutiny, they still discovered that Gibbs had murdered Trent Kort."

"They found him out?" Tony asked. "When?"

"Halfway through the summer of 2008. The CIA was so desperate to cover-up what had happened with The Frog that they decided not to 'marginalize' Gibbs, or have him thrown in Leavenworth for the rest of his life. However, this was under the condition that his immediate resignation from NCIS was received. He gave it to avoid the murder charge."

"Does that mean...?"

"Yes. After Gibbs was forced to resign, you took over the Major Case Response Team, permanently," she said with a sigh. Tony leaned back, staring blankly down at his hands.

"So. Boss loses the woman he loves, the job he loves, and one of his agents," Tony summarized. "My life turns out all aces, Gibbs gets a hand of twos and threes." He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He really didn't feel like breaking down into sobs in front of his mother. "What the hell kept him going?" he asked. In this alternate future, everything that Gibbs cared about had been systematically taken from him, one by one.

"Well, he did have a godson to worry about," Rebecca responded, a slight smile playing on her lips that was very reminiscent of his own. Tony's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Godson? Don't you mean goddaughter?" he asked, assuming that she was referring to Mike Franks' granddaughter Leila.

"No, I mean godson," she repeated, reaching across the table and taking his hand in her own.

In a flash, they were in the stark white halls of Bethesda once more, but this time they were not in the long term patient ward. They were in the maternity ward. He saw himself race by him in a flash, panic written on his features. Tony glanced sideways at his mother before the two of them followed after himself. When he turned the corner, Tony saw that Abby and Gibbs were waiting there for him. The Gibbs he saw was the same ghost that had been haunting Jenny's bedside.

"Did I miss it?" he asked, breathless. Abby smiled at him before pointing to the nearby room. His other self paused, seeming to listen.

That's when they heard the screaming. And the swearing. And the threats. "She's waiting for you, DiNozzo. Get your ass in there," Gibbs said, and after a fearful swallow, he darted inside. Tony and his mother followed inside as a nervous thrill worked its way through his stomach. Kate and I have a kid? He'd always secretly wanted to be a father, even though he didn't have any particular talent with kids. He thought that at age forty four, he had been running out of chances to be a father. Apparently in this universe, his wish was fulfilled.

"What year?" he asked his mother as they followed his other self.

"2010."

Once inside the room, Tony found the doctor and a very, very distressed Kate. She was gripping both sides of the bed, face twisted in pain, mouth opened in a perpetual stream of swear words he hadn't known that she even had the capability of saying. "WHERE IN THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!?" she shouted at the top of her lungs when she saw him. He shrank back slightly, giving her a nervous smile.

"Undercover drug sting. Sorry I'm late," he apologized, moving towards her cautiously and taking her hand in his. A second later, he let out a high-pitched squeal as Kate squeezed his hand so hard he could practically hear the bones in his hand breaking. "Little looser, honey," he managed.

"OH, I CAN DO A LOT WORSE THAN THAT, DINOZZO-"

"Ms. Todd," the doctor interrupted. "He's almost there. Push just a little harder."

"THAT'S WHAT YOU'VE BEEN TELLING ME FOR THREE GODDAMN HOURS!"

"Language, Katie," Tony said gently, trying to calm her down. "Come on, you're almost there." Another squeal as Kate treated his fingers like a stress ball. As the finish line came in sight, Kate let out an ear piercing scream, then sagged back against the bed.

In the doctor's hands was a baby boy with beautiful blue eyes. In a few moments, the baby was cleaned up and swaddled in a blue blanket and passed to Tony, who held the bundle reverently. "Names," Kate managed, sweat dripping down her forehead as she watched her husband hold their son. "We never talked about names."

Tony nodded in agreement, never taking his eyes off of the sniffling child in his arms. "I've got one in mind," he told her.

"What?" she asked, arching a thin eyebrow at him. Tony took a moment before he responded.

"Tim. We'll name him Tim." A brief pause from Kate.

"Timothy no-middle-name DiNozzo?" she questioned with the slightest hint of a smile.

"Yeah," Tony said, returning her smile. "Timothy no-middle-name DiNozzo."

"It's about time you gave me a grandson," Rebecca said from beside him, lacing her hand with his.

White light. This time, he wasn't happy at being dragged away from the scene. That had been... beautiful. Amazing even. He had watched Kate give birth, which while being admittedly gross, had also been one of the most awe-inspiring things he had ever seen. The birth of his son... he'd never thought he'd see it.

Back at the cafe, he found himself alone, standing in the middle of the room. He looked around him. There was no sign of Kate, his mother, or Jenny.

"Hello?" Tony called, seeing if anyone at one of the tables could hear him. "Anyone else feel like chatting it up with me? The afterlife must get boring at some point." It didn't take him long to realize he was talking to himself. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. None of this makes any sense, he thought dismally.

"Nobody ever said it was supposed to," a grizzled voice said from behind him. Tony jumped inadvertently, turning on a dime to face the owner of the voice. Standing a few inches away from him, cigarette pinched between middle and pointer finger, was ex-Special Agent Mike Franks. "Didn't 'spect to see you here so soon, DiNozzo."

"Mike..." he said, smiling in spite of himself. "It's good to see you, old man."

"Hey," Mike rasped, flicking away a few ashes. "Watch who you're calling old. You're getting on in years yourself."

"Ouch. Right in the self-esteem," Tony joked before his expression sobered. "So how's the afterlife going for you?"

"Well, there's none of this 'no smoking area' crap. Benefits of being dead," he said, leaning against the cafe counter as he smirked under his moustache. "But enough about me. We're here for you, after all."

"I've noticed," Tony responded. "So, Mike, do you die in this alternate universe where Kate's still alive, married to me with children, and everyone else's life sucks?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm still in the ground. Different reason, though," Mike replied, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'm gonna show you, but I ain't gonna hold your hand."

"I'm okay with that," he said quickly, just as the white light that was really starting to bother his eyes washed over him for the umpteenth time. When it dissipated, he and Mike were standing side by side in a house that he didn't recognize. Kate sat on the couch, holding who he immediately identified as baby Tim in her arms. He appeared to be about one year old. He spotted himself in the kitchen, which was open to the living room. He walked closer, Mike at his side, so he could get a better look at who he was talking to.

Rain pounded against the windows, and he heard the rumbling of thunder outside, along with occasional flashes of lightning.

Gibbs and himself sat at the table, piles of manila folders between the two of them. "Good old fashioned police work," Gibbs muttered, adjusting his glasses. The Gibbs he was seeing now was newly shaved with his hair back to its normal Marine cut. He guessed it was just recently that Gibbs had pulled the plug on Jenny.

"Got to love it," Tony responded dryly. "Head on home, boss. No reason for both of us to stay up all night studying the entire covert ops history of NCIS."

"A gift from me to Gibbs," Mike provided by way of explanation.

"He's right, Gibbs," Kate called from the living room. "You look like you haven't slept in days." Gibbs didn't respond immediately, but he did set down his glasses, letting a heavy breath escape through his nose.

"Thanks for getting me these, boss, I owe you. If I get a medal for catching P2P, you'll definitely get a mention in my speech," Tony said, giving Gibbs a tired smile.

"Alright. Call me if you need anything," Gibbs said, rising slowly from the table. He made his way into the living room, giving Kate a kiss on the side of the head and scruffing the tiny amount of hair on Tim's head. Without another word, he departed, leaving Kate, Tony, and Tim alone. Tony rose from the kitchen table, coming to plop down next to his wife. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she sank back into him.

"Find anything?" she asked quietly, as Tim seemed to have dozed off in her arms.

"So far, all signs point to the CIA," Tony replied. "Jonas Cobb wasn't born a killer, he was made into one... and Vance was part of it."

"I don't trust him," she said. "He's not an agent, he's a politician."

"You're ex Secret Service, aren't you obligated to like politicians?" Tony asked, cracking a smile at her, which she returned. Before she had a chance to say more, she was cut off by rumble of thunder... and the sound of gun shots. One. Two. Three. Kate and Tony both immediately bolted up, Kate gently placing Tim down on the couch. Their hands were both on their SIGs.

"Outside," Kate said, heading for the door. "You don't think-"

"I don't believe in coincidences," Tony replied. "Come on."

Tony and Kate bolted out of the house, guns raised, and he and Mike followed out after him. "Wait a minute," he said. "You died on a rainy night when we were hunting the P2P."

"Yep," Franks growled as Tony and Kate raced down the sidewalk in front of the two story house. He saw a slumped over figure in the middle of the road. Tony and Kate picked up their pace.

Tony fell to his knees, grasping the face of the man on the ground.

Gibbs had two bullet holes in his chest, and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes were hazy as they stared up at Tony. His SIG lay on the ground several feet away. "Boss," Tony whispered, his voice cracking. "Boss, don't do this to me," he implored him, cupping the side of his face. Gibbs weakly grasped his arm.

"Did... did I get him?" Gibbs asked shakily as a lightning strike lit up the sky for a brief moment. Tony dragged in a ragged breath before answering.

"Yeah... yeah, you got him," he lied, entire body trembling. Gibbs half smirked in that unique way of his. Kate kneeled down next to the two of them, brushing a silver lock of hair out of Gibbs' eyes.

"Gibbs..."

"You're... good kids..." he gasped, his voice barely audible. He squeezed Tony's arm as hard as he could, which wasn't much, before his body sagged into the ground, the life leaving his eyes in a flash.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was dead.


	7. The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Before he had even fully comprehended what had happened, he found himself in the cafe again. His head was lowered, and his eyes were fixed to the floor. _Gibbs is dead,_ he thought, his gut clenching unpleasantly. _Franks didn't die that night, Gibbs did. Jonas Cobb killed Gibbs._

_Gibbs is dead._

"It would not do well to dwell on death, Agent DiNozzo," said a familiar accented voice from across the table. Tony's head jerked up, and his eyes promptly widened at the sight of Eli David. He sat across from him in the booth, looking completely relaxed, silver hair ruffled and khaki suit neatly pressed. The perfect picture of Mossad's patented calm, cool, collectedness. "It will suck the life out of you, pardoning the irony."

"He was the closest thing to a father that I ever had," he responded tightly. "Closest thing that McGee ever had, too. Same goes for Ziva. Of course, you know all about that, don't you?"

Eli simply eyed him over his thick framed glasses. "You would condemn the dead?"

"The fact that you're dead doesn't change all the crap you put her through," Tony said, his words laced with venom. "I mourned for you because of what it did to Ziva. I thought she was better off without Daddy Dearest."

"I loved her," Eli responded evenly, unfazed.

"You used her like a weapon. You treated her like she was just a pawn in your game. You had no problem turning her into a killing machine if it served your own purposes, completely disregarded what it would do to her."

"You were raised in a different world from hers," Eli said, folding his hands together and eyeing him critically. "In America, there is no danger of car bombs, land mines, air raids, missile attacks - you can walk down the street without looking over your shoulder. You do not live in a constant state of conflict. For Israel, all we know is war. I had hoped that if Ziva served her country, then by the time she had her own children, perhaps she would be able to raise them in an Israel that did not require children to learn how to fight for their lives."

"You had a choice," Tony said. "You chose this life for her. For Ari. Seems like you tried your hardest to turn both of them into monsters. Thank God you only succeeded with one. No matter what you did to her, the fact that you never taught her the difference between right and wrong, good and evil - she still turned into a great person. There was something innately good inside of her that even you couldn't fuck up."

"I am sensing an unusual amount of malcontent from you," Eli commented, seemingly nonplussed by his anger. "I have to say, I am impressed by your level of protectiveness over Ziva,"

"Damn shame you never tried to protect her," he retorted. He didn't know why he was arguing with a ghost - right now, all he knew was that he had just watched Gibbs die in front of him, and he was _angry_. The man who had screwed Ziva over time and time again was a perfect target for that rage.

"Ziva did not need my protection. I raised her to take care of herself."

"You left her to die in some godforsaken hellhole in the middle of the desert!" he yelled, losing his temper as he stood up and out of his seat, slamming a hand down on the table. "You ordered her to kill her own brother, who turned into a psychopath because you murdered his mother!"

"Sit down, Agent DiNozzo," Eli said authoritatively.

"She spent her entire life trying to defy the fate that you decided for her!" he continued on, ignoring him. "And for some reason, in the end, she still cared when you bit the dust. And now she's driven mad with revenge. Who knows what she'll lose by going after Bodnar."

"You will not stand by her?" Eli asked, raising a curious eyebrow. God, it pissed him off that he wasn't even getting a rise out of the guy. He gripped the edge of the table.

"I'll stand by her no matter what," he said in a deadly whisper. "She's..."

"You love her," Eli surmised, and Tony was irritated by the knowing glint in his eye. "I suspected."

"She's my partner," he said, finishing his thought and stubbornly bypassing what Eli had said. "I've got her six."

"I told Ziva something once, when she was young. I think she was only nine or ten at the time," Eli began, never dropping his gaze. "I was dancing with her before I had to leave on a mission. I told her that one day, she would dance with a man who deserved her love." He paused for a long moment, as if he was weighing Tony's worth as a human being on a pair of scales he couldn't see. "Perhaps you are that man, Anthony DiNozzo."

"Don't you want her to marry a nice Jewish boy?" he asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. He earned a smirk from Eli, which hadn't been the response he expected to receive. Slowly, he seated himself in the booth once more, trying to calm the wild emotions battling inside of him. "Can we cut the crap, Director David? Why am I getting visited by the ghost of Mossad past?"

Eli snorted before replying. "You've seen much in your time here. You've seen the life you could've had if Agent Todd had not died. Now, I am here to give you a gift."

"Christmas comes early," Tony growled, not liking the idea of receiving any kind of gift from Eli David. He wouldn't accept a drink from the man if he was dying of thirst. "Or should I say Hanukkah?"

Eli wasn't amused. "Think back on your life. The decisions you have made. If you could reexamine any of them, reevaluate just one decision - what would it be?" he asked. "What keeps you up through the night? What choices haunt your nightmares?"

"More than we have time for," he answered without really thinking. "You're asking for one? Just one?"

"Yes," Eli said with a nod.

Tony let his thoughts wander, flashing through the events of his life. He had made a lot of decisions that he would consider changing if he could go back. What if he had tried to save Calvin's sister? What if he hadn't joined NCIS? What if he had taken the team in Rota? What if he hadn't killed Rivkin? What if he had gone back to Wendy? There was a lot in his life that could use extra consideration.

However, one stuck out in his mind, a thought that he felt was a betrayal to those he loved. It was a crime just for thinking it. "I..."

"I am dead, Agent DiNozzo, I am not going to judge you," Eli assured him. Tony sighed, lowering his head into his hands.

"What if I had left NCIS behind and gone with Jeanne?" he asked, hating himself for each word of the sentence. He had never regretted his decision to stay with NCIS when Jeanne left, but he had wondered on more than one occasion what his life would've been like if he had gone with the woman he had loved instead of burning her letter and electing to stay with NCIS.

Part of him had always wondered, and part of him wanted, no, _needed_ to know - what if he had left?

Eli merely nodded in response. "So be it."

There was a flash. A few moments later, he found himself standing in a small meadow, a light summer breeze blowing at his hair. He sniffed the air. Freshly mowed grass. Pollen. The sun warmed his face, and the sky was a bright, blazing blue.

He surveyed the area around him. Marble benches were placed every fifteen feet or so, hidden underneath towering weeping willow trees. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Look closer," was all Eli replied with. Tony narrowed his eyes, looking beyond the peaceful meadow. He furrowed his brow at the small marble obelisks rising from the ground. It took him a moment to realize their location.

"A cemetery," Tony said. "Oh, great. Just great. That's always a positive sign." He looked sideways at Eli, whose hands were buried in his pockets, staring at something in the distance. Tony tracked his gaze, landing on two figures standing in front of a tall, sleek monument, about as tall as the woman who was staring at it, a young girl at her side. Eli began moving toward the pair, and Tony followed close behind the late Mossad director.

As they got closer, Tony realized with a thrill of horror that he recognized the woman. Although she appeared several years older, with crow's feet tugging at the edges of her cerulean eyes, it didn't take much for him to recognize her. "Jeanne," he whispered. It had been five years since he had seen her.

He looked to the girl who was standing next to her, now. She looked to be about five or six, and she stared forlornly at the grave marker. She had a mop of messy, dark brown hair that laid on her shoulders, and she played restlessly with the inside-out pocket of her jeans. Tony took a step closer. The girl brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Tony's heart jumped at what he saw. Hazel eyes, identical to his own.

"You named her Sasha," Eli provided, answering the question that Tony hadn't had a question to ask. Tony knelt down so he was level with the girl. "She is a spitting image of you."

"We had a daughter," Tony said, more to himself than Eli. Sasha stared straight through him. He finally turned, examining the grave that the two of them were so fixated on. Maybe it would be that of Jeanne's father?

He froze when he read the name inscribed on the tombstone. _Anthony DiNozzo Junior, 1968-2012._ "What?"

"Le Grenouille, or the Frog as you called him, had many enemies. Once he was dead and his protection no longer extended to Jeanne, you did all you could to protect her and your daughter. Unfortunately, you did your job too well, Agent DiNozzo. You sacrificed your life to save your wife and daughter. You went down in a hail of gunfire as they escaped to a safe house," Eli explained in a monotone. "You are dead. This is your answer."

He winced at Eli's comment. "Just like that, huh."

"It is interesting that you would choose this to see," Eli said. "It seems as though you are constantly thinking of what you could have done to make your life turn out in the ideal way. Wife, children, job, friends, free of blood and death. Unfortunately, you're life is not designed to be that way. You're life is a dangerous game, as it always has been for you. When playing a game of chess, one must always lose pieces, even the most practiced players. You are no exception to this."

He wanted to fire back with some kind of rebuttal, to launch himself at the ghost of Ziva's father, wanted to do something to prove his statement wrong. Unfortunately, even Tony DiNozzo, who was capable of arguing about pretty much anything, couldn't argue with what he had said.

"It's like I'm cursed," he muttered, eyes fixed on his own grave. "Everyone around me keeps dying, and now I finally kick the bucket."

"My daughter seems to think the same thing, only of herself. You are not cursed. I do not believe in curses. Bad luck, perhaps. Fate, possibly. But no, you are not cursed," Eli responded, adjusting his glasses. "Have you seen enough of this? I can't imagine you would want to dwell in a place like this."

"I don't want to stay here," he said quietly, and his wish was fulfilled. In the blink of the eye, he was no longer there, but standing by the door of the cafe, Kate at his side again. The sight of her relaxed him somewhat.

"Glad to see you back," he said, and their hands gravitated towards each other, intertwining once more.

"Glad to be back," she replied with a small smile. "But I won't be back for long."

"Am I finally going to get an answer on the whole 'dead or not dead' thing?" Tony asked. "'Cause honestly, I'm lost."

"I'm going to give you a choice," she told him carefully. "It won't be an easy one, but it's one you need to make."

"Oh?" Tony asked, tilting his head at her. "And what would that be?"

"You can have the world where I'm alive, we're married, and we have Tim... or you can go back to the life you were living," Kate explained to him. "You're not dead Tony, but you are at a crossroads."

"What kind of cosmic math is this!?" Tony burst out, floored by the choice that was being put upon him. "I take a bullet for the Probie, I get an alternate version of my life, and now you're asking me whether I want to go back or live in a world where..." he broke off. The alternate universe, while it held enough misery to sink a battleship, it still had Kate... and they had a family...

"I'm sorry," was all she said, squeezing his hand slightly. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that... it's wrong... that even though so many of the people I care about are dead in that alternate universe, I'm still considering this," he told her honestly, taking a step closer to her. "Because I have you. Because you're alive, and we're in love, and we have a son... and a few years ago, that's all I would have ever wanted."

Kate nodded. "You have the perfect, wife-son-dog-and-a-white-picket-fence life, Tony. Just like you always wanted. Straight out of the Good Wife's Guide."

"I'm not the man I was when you died," he said, looking into her copper eyes.

"No," she said, reaching out and letting her hand rest on the side of his neck. "No, you're definitely not. You're still a hyperactive man-child, but you've grown. I'm proud of you, Tony."

He felt a slight burning at the corners of his eyes, but he quickly suppressed it. Hearing her say that meant more than she would ever know. "Thanks, Kate," he replied.

"But you need to think about what you'd be leaving behind," she reminded him. He obeyed, weighing his choices. If he chose the alternate universe, he would be living in a universe where McGee was dead, Ziva was dead, Gibbs was dead, and Jenny and Franks were _still_ dead.

Images flashed through his mind. McGee's burnt corpse. Ziva's body, beaten and bloody on the ground in Somalia, Gibbs laying in a soaked heap on the road outside of his and Kate's house, gasping for breath as he bled out.

_"Can't live without you, I guess."_ He hadn't lied when he had said that. He had been under truth serum, after all. Three years ago, he couldn't live without Ziva. Now... he still didn't think he could live without her.

McGee, the man who had somewhere along the lines had become the brother he'd never had, the best friend he could ask for. He took a bullet for the man, for God's sake. He'd go to the ends of the earth for his Probie.

And Gibbs... the man who had been the father he needed. The rock. The steadying force that had been there to head-slap him back to his senses when he was an idiot, and pick him back up off of the ground when he fell, which was more frequently than he would've liked.

They were the three people that he depended on most in the world. He loved them, each in their own way. _"I told her that one day she would dance with a man that deserved her love..."_

He didn't even know where to begin when it came to that. The truth was, that although he had lost a lot in his years with NCIS, he had gained more than anyone could possibly imagine.

Kate grinned at him. "Now you're starting to get it."

"Wait, what?" Tony said, snapping out of his thoughts. "Was this all a ploy just to teach me the 'grass is always greener on the other side' lesson?"

"No, Tony," she said, shaking her head. "This is to show you what you have... and you have a lot more than you know." She put her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. He put his arms around her shoulders. "You're going to go back, and you're going to make fun of McGee, and Gibbs is going to slap you on the back of the head, and maybe if you build up the nerve, you'll finally get _the_ girl." Tony pulled back from her slightly when she said this. "Don't be a coward, Tony."

"I didn't know how to tell you," he said softly. "And I don't know how to tell her."

"You'll figure something out. You always do. That's the DiNozzo Way." They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, knowing what was about to come.

"I guess it's time for me to go back," he said, though he didn't move from his spot. Kate nodded, smiling sadly. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the cheek, leaving a tingling warmth where her lips had been.

"Go back to your family, Tony," she said, stepping away from him. "I'll be watching." She winked at him as he passed her, setting his hand on the handle of the door.

"Bye, Katie," he said over his shoulder before opening the door and stepping into the light.


	8. The Takeover, the Break's Over

He always hated hospital beds. Hard as a slab of stone, sheets that felt like napkins, not to mention next to no wiggle room. In other words, not his favorite place to crash. These were the first thoughts that made their way into his sleep-ridden mind as he slowly entered the world of the waking. He realized he was in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, and, by going out on a limb of reasoning, he was probably in a hospital.

He felt a hand in his. He took a moment to try and work out who it belonged to. It felt soft and girly enough to be either Abby, Ziva, or McGee... it felt small though, and Abby and McGee both had large hands. So, that meant that Ziva was sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. Not a terrible thing to wake up to.

His experience with Kate and the others in the Crossroads Cafe registered in his mind, and he remembered everything that had transpired in a flash. He remembered the choice he had made. He slowly opened his eyes, and he was met by the warm brown eyes he had grown so accustomed to over the past few years.

"Tony," she breathed with a sense of relief. "You're awake."

"Morning, sweet cheeks," he muttered, letting the nickname slip out without even having meant to. She seemed surprised, but quickly recovered.

"I was beginning to worry. You have been out for several hours," she informed him, eyes darting down to their joined hands. An awkward moment passed before she withdrew her hand, letting it rest on her leg. _One step forward, two steps back_. Typical Ziva.

"Care to debrief me?" he asked, struggling into a sitting position with the help of Ziva's hand on his back.

"What is the last thing you remember?" she asked. _Nothing that I will ever tell you, or anyone else for that matter,_ he responded in his head before answering aloud.

"Guy pulled a gun on us, fired a shot, I jumped in front of McGeek," he said, massaging the back of his head as he checked himself over for injuries. Upon rising up, the paper-thin hospital bed sheet fell slightly, revealing his chest, which had a heavy bandage across it. "Yikes."

"You were very lucky, Tony," Ziva said, shifting slightly in her chair. "The bullet was a through-through, barely missed your aorta. Thankfully, all it hit was muscle, nothing major. You were stitched up, and you'll be out of the field for two weeks, but there will be no lasting damage."

"Sounds like you memorized what the docs told you," Tony said, placing a hand on the bandage and wincing slightly. It throbbed unpleasantly.

"I did," she said, staring at him with what he determined to be concerned. He tried to give her what he hoped was a brave smile before remembering that someone had indeed tried to kill him and McGee, and that was definitely troubling..."

"The shooter?" he asked.

"Justine Riker's father," Ziva explained, and although Tony felt a sharp pang of emotion - one third pity, one third guilt, one third anger - he wasn't surprised. When men were pushed to the brink, they were capable of almost anything. "McGee shot him three times in the chest after you went down. He is dead."

He probably should've been happy that the man that had tried to kill not only himself but his partner as well was dead, but strangely, he just felt a hollow feeling in his chest. Ziva looked at him with increased concern when he remained silent. "Tony...?"

"I'm fine, no worries. Didn't hit anything major, right?" She didn't seem to be comforted by his words. He looked at her, thoughts buzzing in his head like a bee hive. _"...and maybe if you build up the nerve, you'll finally get the girl,"_ Kate's words echoed in the back of his mind. "So... how long have I been out?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"You were out for the entirety of yesterday after you went into surgery, and then you slept through the night," she provided. "It's about ten, now. You're at Georgetown General."

"That means..." he trailed off, furrowing his brow. "It's May 24th."

"Yes," Ziva said slowly, confusion written across her features. "And...?"

"I've got to go." He threw his legs over the side of the hospital bed, immediately trying to get himself moving. His chest protested, and his muscles were weak from the hours of sedated sleep, but he managed to get on his feet before Ziva stopped him, putting her hands against the undamaged part of his torso.

"Tony, you are confused. The doctors have you on painkillers, non-narcotic, but-" she began, pushing him lightly back onto the bed. He shook his head adamantly.

"I'm not stoned, I _really_ need to go," he said, trying to stand up again, but in his current state, Ziva was stronger than him - hell, in most states she was stronger than him - and she gently pushed him back yet again.

"Where exactly do you need to go?" she asked, leaning down to look him in the eye, no doubt trying to get a better idea of his mental grip at the moment.

"Indianapolis," he said automatically, without really having meant to. Ziva looked understandably puzzled by the admission.

"Why do you need to go to Indianapolis?"

"It's May 24th," he repeated with an irritated sigh, carefully removing her hands from his front and brushing her slightly to the side, rising again from the bed. This time, she did not push him back down. "I always go to Indianapolis on May 24th."

"Why? What is so special about May 24th?" she inquired. She didn't remember the date. Why would she? He didn't know how to respond. He never told anyone where he went on the 24th, not even Gibbs. Gibbs had just figured it out on his own, and he didn't know why the hell that should surprise him.

Then, a vision of the scene that Kate had showed him drifted into his thoughts, of him shoving Ziva up against the wall of the interrogation room, of the two of them being enemies... finding out that Ziva had died in Somalia, because no one had been there to rescue her. _Rule #8: Never take anything for granted._

He looked into the deep brown eyes that were staring back at him, and he decided that Ziva had earned his honesty. "Every year on May 24th, I drive to Indianapolis, to the cemetery where Kate is buried, and I pay my respects. I've done it for the past seven years, and I don't want this one to be any different, shot or not."

Ziva seemed surprised, but she recovered quickly. "It is sweet that you have not forgotten about her, Tony, but you are not fit to drive for nine hours right now."

"I'm fine, Ziva," he assured her. "Where are my personal effects?" he asked. Ziva nodded towards the bedside table.

"Gibbs will never let you leave her in your condition, assuming that you could get past Abby, McGee... and myself," she said, and he thought he saw her hand drift towards where he knew she kept her knife.

"This is something I need to do," he said, turning his back to her as he pulled his bunched up clothes from the day before from the drawer, along with his keys and wallet. Checking to make sure that he had underwear on under his hospital gown, he shed the hospital gown without a second thought before proceeding to pull his chinos up, which were thankfully free of bloodstains. He could not say the same about his shirt, however. There was a large, bloody spot on the chest area. "Guess I'll need to get a new shirt from the gift shop."

"You are not being serious," Ziva insisted. Tony glanced back at her.

"I told you, this is something I need to do," he reiterated. Ziva sighed, tonguing the inside of her cheek as she considered his shirtless form.

"This may be inappropriate, but I would like to come with you. If I drive, you can rest on the way there, and I will be able to keep an eye on you. You were shot just a little over twenty four hours ago. You should not be alone right now." He had to admit, he was blindsided by her offer. He had no idea how to respond. Anything having to do with Kate had always been intensely private for him. He had never mixed Kate and Ziva. Period.

_Ziva's had your back for the past eight years,_ he reminded himself. _You can show her something under the surface without being afraid that she'll hate what she sees._

"Fine," he responded. "But on one condition."

"And what is that?" she asked, tilting her head, seeming caught off guard by the fact that he had agreed without making a scene.

"You drive the speed limit," he said. "This doesn't need to be the anniversary of my death, too."

Ziva paused, before nodding reluctantly. "Fine - I will try to stay under sixty. Good enough?"

"Good enough," he affirmed, glancing around the room as he shivered against the cold. "Where's everyone else?" Not that he was disappointed to wake up with Ziva at his bedside, but he expected Abby to be sitting there in histrionics as Gibbs and McGee took turns comforting her, with the possible addition of Palmer awkwardly stammering off to the side and Ducky telling some long-winded story about the time he autopsied a Welsh man who died from a similar wound to Tony's.

"This is actually the fewest people that have been in here since you were admitted. Abby is asleep in the waiting room, and Gibbs and McGee are on a coffee run. Ducky and Palmer were called into work," she told him, before smirking slightly. "McGee has not left your side since it happened." She paused for a moment, expression growing serious. "What you did for him, Tony... it was the ultimate show of loyalty. None of us will forget that sacrifice. McGee would be dead if it were not for you."

"He would've done the same for me," Tony replied, his cheeks warming slightly as he told Ziva the same thing he had told Kate in the weird Crossroads Cafe. "Any of you would have."

"Yes," was all she said. He looked down at his bare chest.

"Can you go grab me a shirt? I'm freezing," he asked, reaching for his wallet. She held up a hand.

"It over me," she said.

"On me," he corrected with a tired smile. "And thanks."

"Not a problem. I will be back in a moment." Following the statement, he watched as she turned on her heel and the left the room, leaving him with only the four walls as company. Tony sank down onto the bed, rubbing a hand over his bandage as he thought of Kate, of Jenny, of his mother, of Ziva. _"I told her that one day, she would dance with a man who deserved her love." He paused for a long moment, as if he was weighing Tony's worth as a human being on a pair of scales he couldn't see. "Perhaps you are that man, Anthony DiNozzo."_

"Voices in my head," he muttered to himself. "Always a good sign."

"That a fact, DiNozzo?" He was jarred from his thoughts by a familiar voice. He looked up to see Gibbs standing over him, McGee at his side, signature cup of coffee in his hand.

"Boss... McGee..." He couldn't really help himself from saying it in an awed whisper. The last time had seen the two men, they had both been dead. Hell, he had _watched_ Gibbs die.

In a fashion that Abby would've been incredibly proud of, he thrust himself out of his bed and threw his arms around each of them in one swift motion, dragging them into an impromptu group hug, completely disregarding the fact that he was shirtless. Both men tensed in surprise. McGee hesitantly raised one of his arms and put it around Tony's middle, and Gibbs put a hand on his back.

"Glad to see you're okay," Gibbs said next to his ear.

"Glad to be okay, boss," he responded, before pulling back and blushing ever-so-slightly. McGee was staring at him, green eyes trying to tell him a million things at once in spite of the fact that the younger agent remained silent.

"Hi, Tony," McGee greeted him quietly.

"Hey, Tim," he replied. "How's it hanging?"

"Good... I'm good." An awkward pause. "How are you?"

"Great, I'm great." They both continued to look at each other, neither of them able to come up with anything to say. Gibbs glanced between the two of them before smirking in that damnable way of his and departing out the door with a nod towards the two of them. The door to the hospital room shut behind them, leaving him and McGee alone.

"Tony..." McGee trailed off, seating himself in the chair that Ziva had previously occupied. "You saved my life. You took a bullet for me. I don't even know what to say to you, how to thank you. I don't know anything right now."

"All you _need_ to know is that you don't _need_ to thank me," Tony told him, rubbing a hand over his face as he sank back onto the bed. "McGee," he said, before correcting himself. "Tim. We're..." he trailed off, prepared to launch into his 'we're partners and I've got your six' shtick, but he stopped himself. If he had died yesterday, he would've died without letting McGee know just how much the other man meant to him. After all, when he had told McGee that he loved him in the parking garage five years prior, he was fairly sure the younger man just thought it was a reaction to having his life saved.

"Tony?" McGee asked, bringing him back into the moment.

"You're my best friend," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "The best friend I've ever had, really. In that moment, taking a bullet so that you could live, well... it wasn't even a choice."

McGee blinked in what seemed to be unabashed shock. "I'm your best friend?"

"Yeah, you are. I've known you for nine years, seen you grow up from My Little Probie to a man and a damn good agent. Not as good as me, of course, but-" McGee rolled his eyes at this, but he was smiling. "Do you remember what I said to you when you saved my life a couple years back, in the parking garage?"

"You said you loved me," McGee said slowly.

"This isn't a coming out speech, McShe," Tony retorted dryly. "But I meant what I said. I love you. In the straightest way possible, naturally." McGee snorted, but his smile had grown wider. "You're the little brother I never had. I don't know what I'd do without you." There was silence for a long moment as McGee stared at him, and Tony could almost hear the cogs turning in his head.

"That means more to me than you'll ever know," he told him quietly. "I love you too." Tony smiled genuinely at his friend.

"I feel like we should hug now, but with me being shirtless and the admissions of our love, well..." he shrugged.

"Speaking of, why aren't you in your hospital gown?" McGee asked, the subject easing into something less personal. He had told McGee what he should have said to the younger agent a long time ago... it felt good.

"Ziva's grabbing me a shirt from the gift shop, and then I'm going to have to get going," he told McGee, bracing himself for the questions that would inevitably come.

"Going? Going where? Tony, you were shot yesterday!" McGee said immediately. Tony let out an exasperated sigh.

"Already went through the rigmarole with Ziva, McMom," he said. "She's driving me against my will."

McGee looked as concerned about that fact as he was.

"Where are you going?" he asked again.

"I just... there's something I need to do, okay? We'll be back by tomorrow. Like I said, she's driving, so I can nap on the way. No extra exertion on poor, bullet-riddled me."

At that moment, Ziva strolled back into the room, eyes darting between the two of them as she moved forward to hand a hot pink tee-shirt to Tony. "I am sorry about the color. It is all that they had in your size."

"Err, thanks," he said, eyeing the tee-shirt apprehensively as he tugged it over his head. Once it was on him, he glanced down at the writing on the tee-shirt. 'Hot stuff' was written across the chest. "At least it's accurate." McGee snorted. "Well, let's hit the road, Zee-vah." He stood up, stretching his sleep-sore muscles. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tim."

"Good luck, wherever you're going," McGee told him. Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder before making his way toward the door, tossing Ziva his keys as he did so. They made their way into the waiting room, where Gibbs sat next to Abby, who was snoozing peacefully, her head lolled onto his shoulder. Tony smiled at her sleeping form. Gibbs gave him a look that told him very clearly not to wake her up. He obeyed, but he did lean down and plant a light kiss on her forehead.

"I'll talk to the docs. Tell her I'm sorry," he said, just as he did every year. Tony nodded, and with that, he and Ziva departed the ICU, and then made their way out of Georgetown General and into the parking lot, where Tony's car was sitting.

"McGee drove it over during the night," Ziva explained, opening up the driver's side door and taking her seat, sliding the key into the ignition. He sank down into the passenger's seat, exhausted just from their trek to the parking lot. _Getting shot takes a lot out of you_ , he mused.

"Go to sleep, Tony," Ziva said, catching on to his fatigue as she pulled out of the parking lot, glancing sideways at him.

"Yeah... I am kinda tired..." he muttered, closing his eyes. Before he knew it, the sound of the car became less and less loud, and all he could hear was Ziva humming a soft tune, almost like a lullaby.


	9. Sugar, We're Going Down

Tony woke up several hours later, his head leaning against the cool glass of the window. He blinked blearily, eyes opening to see a long landscape of lightly swooping hills and the lush green grass of spring. Judging by the position of the sun, he would guess it to be around five.

His sleep had been fraught with fragments of his experience in the Crossroads Cafe, almost haunting his mind with the question of whether or not it was real. One of his first coherent thoughts upon waking was, _Could it have actually happened?_ He stretched as much as he could in the passenger seat, attracting Ziva's attention. "You are awake," she observed, her eyes flitting to him for a split second before going back to the road.

"Yep," he said before the rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud yawn. "How far are we?" he asked.

"We just passed the Indiana state line," Ziva answered, somewhat slowly.

"What? We only left DC a few hours ago!"

"I drove fast," she responded in a monotone. He couldn't help but notice how worn down the other agent seemed. He realized with a jolt that if the dark circles under Ziva's eyes were any indication, she had not slept at all the night before. He had a mental image of Ziva, sitting at his bedside, flanked by McGee, Abby and Gibbs, gripping his hand and watching him sleep while she herself was unable to rest.

He didn't know why he was still shocked by the fact that people cared about his well-being. Maybe that was a left over gift from his father's lackluster raising of him. Just as the usual wave of resentment rose to meet him, something his mother had said rang in his mind. _"He tried with you, Tony, he really did."_

Damn it, it was increasingly hard trying to make the decision whether to take what he had been told in the Crossroads Cafe as reality or not. Had he really been in some kind of ethereal after-life dimension, or was it all just some drugged out coma fantasy? Quite simply, he had to know, and there was really only one way to do that.

"If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer truthfully?" Tony asked, turning his head to look blearily at his partner.

"About what, exactly?"

"Your favorite kind of question. Deep. Emotional. Having to do with the past," he responded with a smirk.

"You and I both know I will not promise you that," Ziva replied, unreadable eyes still firmly fixed on the road.

"Oh, come on. You've seen me subjected to truth serum, answer questions I didn't want to - haven't I earned a little honesty? A little trust?" he asked as he watched the flattened Indiana landscape flying by. Ziva sighed heavily.

"It is not a matter of trust, Tony. I can promise you I will _try_ to answer honestly. Is that good enough?" He could practically see her tensing as she spoke. Ziva did not do heart-to-heart conversations, or complete emotional honesty. That just wasn't part of her Mossad Ninja Way.

"Not really, but I'll take what I can get," he said with a shrug. He sucked in a heavy breath, unsure of how Ziva would respond to his inquiry. He weighed the pros and cons, but the fact was that he needed to know whether or not his experience had been real or not to know what the next step in his life was. If it had all been real... "When you were young, did at any point your father tell you that one day you would dance with a man deserving of your love?" he asked in a subdued fashion.

Ziva abruptly mashed her foot against the brake, causing the car to jerk to a sudden stop in the middle of the lazy rural road they were currently on. Tony's seatbelt tightened against his chest. He winced and let out an embarrassingly unmanly squeak of agony as it rubbed against the bandage over his gunshot wound. Her head turned sharply to the side, brown eyes staring at him.

"How do you know that?" she asked, voice tense, low.

_My God,_ he thought as his heart seemed to freeze in his chest. _Then it was real - all of it. Kate, Jenny, my mother, Eli, Mike - I really saw all of them. Following that logic, everything I saw in that alternate universe, it could've really happened. It was an actual possibility._

It was all real.

Trying to overcome his shock, he tried to respond to Ziva's question. His first reaction was to lie, not wanting the disbelief that would come with the true story, but the only way he could've known that was if Eli David told him - which he did, but only after he died. During the late Mossad director's life, he had never had a moment alone with him, with the exception of his interrogation in Tel Aviv, which Ziva had been observing through a feed at the time. He was going to have to go with a vague, non-answer.

"Educated guess?" It probably would have sounded more convincing if it hadn't come out as a question. Ziva's glare confirmed that she wasn't buying it.

"Do not lie to me, Tony," she whispered, eyes never leaving his. He had definitely struck something personal here. Ziva's past had always been a touchy subject, even more now that her father, brother, mother and sister were all dead. It seemed that for her, the past held nothing but pain.

"I'm not trying to," he answered honestly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, and that's the truth."

"No, what I cannot believe is that you would somehow know something that neither my father or myself ever told anyone, let alone you!" Ziva responded, voice rising in volume.

"Just calm down, okay?" Tony said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He was going to have to give her something, or she wasn't going to let this go, and he didn't particularly fancy the idea of sitting in a parked car in the middle of the road with the angry Israeli. "I swear, I will tell you. Just after I talk to..." he trailed off before correcting himself. "Just after I see Kate. Now, can we please keep going? I hate to break it to you, but other cars may want to use this road at some point."

Ziva looked at him for a long moment, the decision in her mind playing out in her eyes. She let out a heavy sigh before finally relinquishing his gaze and pressing her toe to the gas, getting them going once again. Tony sagged slightly in relief that the conversation had been put off for a short while. Right now, he just didn't have the energy.

The rest of the ride passed solemnly, but without event. Ziva didn't speak to him, except to ask him if he wanted anything when they stopped at a roadside gas station. He asked if he could have an orange soda. She wordlessly went into the store and bought him one. He expected her to ask for him to pay her back. She didn't.

Finally, just as the sun's rays were beginning to touch the low lying, grassy knolls of the outskirts of Indianapolis, they arrived at Garland Cemetery, where the remains of Special Agent Caitlin Todd, recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, resided. When Ziva parked the car, she looked at him, and he looked back. He didn't have a clue what to say.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said in a quiet voice, and at first he wasn't even sure if she heard him or not. However, when she nodded her head in response, he was proven wrong. After a tense moment, he opened the passenger door and slowly gets out, his body protesting every movement. Man, getting shot really sucked.

He didn't have to struggle to remember where Kate was buried. Much to his misfortune, the events of May of 2005 were emblazoned in his mind forever, from contracting the pneumonic plague to feeling his face soaked in his partner's blood, to standing over her coffin and carefully laying a rose on top of it, and finally ending when he arrived back home after the funeral, punched a six inch hole in the wall of his living room and then downed enough scotch that the next few days after that were a complete blur.

He walked to the grave, taking his time, not wanting to overexert himself and end up back in the hospital. The rays of twilight guided themselves over the pale green, well kept grass of the cemetery, giving the grounds a striped look. It's peaceful. Appropriate. The dead should be put to rest in a place like this, a place where the outside world doesn't affect what's within the gates. It was like an enclave, a heaven set aside for those who had passed, neatly tucked away in this solemn place.

He decided that he was waxing way too poetic for his liking, and he tried to clear his head as he beat the familiar path to Kate's grave. He crested a slight slope, and he could spot it about thirty yards away, a marble obelisk set against the pale orange sky. He didn't really know how he knew from such a distance which one was hers, but he just did. He continued making his way there, weaving between the tomb stones and benches that lined the path.

It was strange, but he didn't feel like he was walking alone. He checked behind him, next to him. No one. There were other mourners in the cemetery, of course, but he was treading this path alone. Yet he could've sworn he felt a presence at his side, smelled a warm scent of vanilla. "Kate...?" he whispered. He thought he felt the brush of pressure on his hand.

She was with him. A day ago, before he had jumped in front of a bullet to save his best friend and gone to a place where life, death, and reality were not constants, he wouldn't have believed that the ghost of his partner was walking side by side with him, but hell, after all of that, he was pretty damn sure he would have believed in unicorns and leprechauns, too, if someone told him they were real.

He reached her grave. It looked just like it always did, the name _Caitlin Todd_ inscribed on the stone, with the sentence " _Who died as she lived, as a hero_ ," written beneath it, with her birth and death dates printed below that.

It was fitting. Profound, even. He sank down in front of the grave, the exhaustion from walking the short distance from the parking lot taking its toll on him. He would sleep like a baby tonight... hopefully. He sat there, his legs crossed, his elbows resting on his knees as his eyes traced the words on the stone over and over again. "It's been a... really long year, Kate. One of the longest of my life. I guess you already know that though, in hind sight. Crazy that you've been looking out for me all these years..." he laughed a little bit at that. How didn't he know that she'd been looking out for him? The fact that he, Ziva, McGee, and Gibbs were all still kicking and relatively unharmed was a miracle in itself, with all the life-threatening activities they got up to.

"I'm sorry I didn't bring you flowers like usual, Kate, but I think I've got a pretty good excuse, getting shot and all."

Even though he was perfectly aware that Kate already knew the events of the past year, he wasn't about to break tradition now. He started talking, and once the words came forward, they were flowing like a river, like a dam had been holding them back for the past twelve months.

"NCIS gets blown to pieces. Somehow, we all make it out. Boss hunts down Dearing, kills the bastard. We all tried to recover. It wasn't easy. NCIS... it's my home. My job, the team, the agency. If I lost that..." He swallowed slightly, pursing his lips. "It's everything. It always has been, ever since I met Gibbs. Hard to believe its been twelve years. I'm getting old." He paused. "Too old." Another pause, longer this time. "Things have changed with Ziva and I a lot."

"Things are different now. I finally feel like I understand her. I get why she does the things she does, why she says the things she says. I _get_ her. It took me almost eight years, but I finally know her. And... I..." He didn't know to phrase the next sentence, but the fact was, he had to get it out. He had to say it. "Somewhere along the lines, between the misconstrued idioms and the violence and the daddy issues, I fell in love with her. Really, truly, _Notting Hill_ style in love with her."

There. It was out there, in the open. He felt like a weight had been taken off of his chest at the admission.

"I was getting up the nerve to tell her, I think. I've been trying to give her subtle hints, over the past year, trying to actually romance her a little. Be the charmer I was genetically programmed to be. And then, to bring in the New Year, Eli David and Jackie Vance are murdered, and the idea that things at the agency could stay relatively status quo for a few months gets blown out the window again."

"She's changing. I can see it changing her. I don't want her to see her go back down that road. I don't want this to consume her." He snorted at this. "There's only one thing that can put fire in someone's veins, and make them forego all reason or sense." He paused. "Two, actually. Revenge. Revenge and love." He punctuated the sentence with a small laugh. "I guess I must love her then. She definitely makes me lose my sense. Now I just have to figure out a way to tell her, I have to figure out someway to stop this train before Ziva ends up bent over Bodnar's corpse with a bloody dagger in her hand."

He ran a hand through his hair, starting to sweat slightly in the late spring heat. "I'm a coward, Kate. I can jump in front of a bullet for McGee, but I can't just say three simple words to her. What the hell kind of sense does that make?" He shook his head. "But I've got to do it. Yesterday showed me that much. Like Gibbs said after Paula lost her team, it could be _us_. It could be me, McGee, Gibbs, Ziva... every damn day of the week."

He fell silent after that. He unfolded his legs and drew them up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees and staring at the grave of his partner. For a moment, he imagined Ziva's name there. He shuddered involuntarily. Yes, it was time to tell Ziva. It was long past the time to tell her. "You only live once, right?" he whispered, mostly to himself this time.

He sat there, thoughts racing, until the steadily dropping temperature and diminishing light reminded him that Ziva was waiting for him back in the car. Letting out a heavy sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet, wincing in pain as a bolt of agony shot through his chest. Joy. The pain medication had worn off. He was pretty sure that there was a bottle of Advil tucked away in his glove box, so that would have to tide him over until he could get back to DC and speak with his doctor, who was probably incredibly upset about his abrupt departure from the hospital.

He gave Kate's tomb stone one last look. "Thanks for listening, Kate. I miss you. Everyday. I'll see you next year." He went to turn, but then stopped himself. _Almost forgot._ He slapped himself on the back of the head, albeit lightly. _This one's on me, boss._ "Gibbs says he's sorry. 'Course, you already know that, don't you?"

Then, finally, he turned his back on her grave, and he made his way back to the car, trying to outpace the darkness that was slowly settling in on the cemetery. About ten minutes later, he set his eyes on his car, where Ziva was dozing peacefully in the driver's seat. He smiled slightly at the view of Ziva with her head tilted to the side, mouth hanging open.

If she hadn't been in the driver's seat, he would have let her continue with her nap, knowing that she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. He supposed that he could have leaned over her and tried to drive from the passenger seat, but he was fairly positive she would've just woken up at the movement. He was going to have to wake her up.

He slid into the passenger's seat, relaxing into the soft canvas. God, he was beat. He turned his head lazily to look at Ziva. "Hey," he said, his voice at medium volume. When she didn't respond, he tried again. "Zee-vah, time to wake up." He contemplated shaking her awake, but he really didn't want the knife to the throat that was a potential consequence of doing so.

An idea came to him, and he grinned. He cleared his throat, and then, in his best Leroy Jethro Gibbs impression, shouted, "Grab your gear!"

Ziva bolted awake immediately, hand flying to her side arm. "Yes, G-" she broke off as she blinked the sleep from her eyes, head darting from side to side as she took in her surroundings. When they landed on Tony, who was grinning at her like an idiot, she rolled her eyes and sank back against her seat.

"Oh, very funny."

"It was," Tony said, smiling at her. "We might as well grab a hotel somewhere in town tonight. Neither of us are coherent enough to drive right now."

Ziva nodded, starting up the vehicle and pulling out of the cemetery parking lot. "I called a local directory while you were gone, there is a Hilton nearby. They have an open room."

"Room? No plural?"

"It has two beds. I figured there would not be any problem with us sharing a room."

"Nope, no problem at all," he said, while his stomach did an unpleasant flip in his stomach. _Tonight is the night._


	10. Thanks for the Memories

About a half an hour later, Tony and Ziva were checked into the nearby Hilton. Tony immediately strode into the room and collapsed on one of the beds, sighing in relief as he felt the soft material sink underneath him. _Alright, priority one: sleep. Priority two: talk to Ziva. Actually, food should probably be in there somewhere too..._

"Tony," Ziva said, shaking him slightly after depositing both of their overnight bags that they kept in their respective cars on the nearby loveseat. "You should take some Ibuprofen before you sleep, your chest must hurt."

"That would require getting up," he muttered into the comforter.

"It will also require you eating a meal, something that I suspect you will not have much of a problem with," she said knowingly. He looked up at her, smirking slightly.

"Okay, yeah, I could go for something to eat."

"There's a restaurant on the ground floor. We can go there, I am hungry as well," she said, helping him sit up with a wince. She sighed. "I should not have let you leave. You should still be in the hospital."

"I would've just snuck out when you got up to use the bathroom or something," he said, slowly rising with Ziva's hand still placed on his arm to steady him. "I owe you one for driving here, really. I don't think I could've managed it."

"You would've done the same for me," Ziva replied as the two of them made their way towards the door.

"How much do I owe you for the hotel room?" he asked, feeling slightly emasculated when Ziva opened the door for him. Ugh. He was turning into an invalid. Ziva rolled her eyes at him.

"Nothing. Consider this your early birthday present."

"A night in a hotel room with you?" he asked with a lecherous grin. "Well gee, how come I've been getting DVDs the past couple years? You've been holding out on me, I'm glad you're finally stepping it up."

"You are a pig," she said, though she spoke in the way that he knew that she was kidding. Well, mostly kidding, anyway. The two of them made their way to the elevator and correspondingly to the ground floor, remaining mostly silent on the way down. Tony was lost in thought, trying to think of some way to tell Ziva how he felt about her. His first instinct was to chicken out, like every time before, but each time he reminded himself that it was now or never.

Once in the hotel restaurant, they headed to a secluded booth towards the back corner. They were served waters and told that someone would be along to take their orders in a minute.

Before he even had the chance to launch into some small talk to warm her up, Ziva took a long draught of her water, set it down, looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Explain your question from earlier. _Now_."

Honestly, it had almost slipped his mind what he had said on the ride to the cemetery. However, according to the intensity blazing in Ziva's dark brown eyes, she hadn't forgotten for a second. "Oh, right. That... well, it's kind of a long story."

"Do not give me that, Tony," Ziva said, crossing her arms in front of her and frowning. "If you have earned honesty, then I have as well."

"I'm not saying you haven't, I'm just saying that you might have a hard time believing what I tell you."

"I'm having a hard time believing that you made an 'educated guess' about something my father told me almost twenty years ago," she said, seeming to hold back a sigh. "Please, Tony, do you not think that I have known you long enough to know that you would not lie to me? Start at the beginning."

Tony pursed his lips, weighing his options in head before deciding that if tonight was going to be a night of honesty, he might as well get a head start. "Okay, okay. Listen, you know how when people come close to death, their life sometimes... flashes before their eyes, right?"

Ziva nodded in response, but said nothing, waiting for him to continue as she sipped at her water.

"Well, I kind of had one of those after I jumped in front of McGee. Everything just went black, and then my entire life, everything, just flashed before me like some movie, only it was like _that_ ," he snapped his fingers for emphasis. "When I came to, I was looking at myself and McGee. Me, pushing him back, him, looking like he was going to pee his pants - and the bullet was frozen in midair. Then I heard a voice, and..." he trailed off for a moment. "Kate showed up. I was still in the cafe, but it was filled with pretty much every friend, family member, coworker, ex-flame, and enemy I'd ever had. Then Kate said there were things I needed to see, people I needed to talk to. She wanted to show me a different life I could have had."

"A different life?" Ziva echoed. He was grateful that so far she had spared him any disbelief. Ziva was fairly open-minded - Mossad was willing to accept things both spiritual and supernatural, so for once, he was grateful for her training. "What was different?"

"It was my life if Kate hadn't died," Tony said, folding his hands together around his glass, the condensation gathering at his fingertips. "First thing she showed me was the bullpen. Kate's things were in your desk, and I didn't realize it until later, but my stuff was in Gibbs's... she showed me everything that would have changed if Ari hadn't shot her."

Ziva looked at him with something akin to compassion, but remained silent.

"Kate and I got together a few weeks after Ari was killed. We got married a few years later. Had a son. Our life was domestic. Perfect. Wonderful family, steady job, suburban house with a nice little picket fence - I'm not even kidding about that, by the way. White picket fence," he said, running a hand through his hair. They were interrupted when the waiter strolled up to the table, asking for their orders. Ziva ordered a Caesar salad, he ordered a shrimp basket. The waiter bustled off, leaving Tony and Ziva alone once more.

"Was that it?" Ziva asked quietly. "You were shown the life you could have had, had Kate never died?"

He gave her a bitter smile in response. "Oh, if only. No, Kate and a few others showed me how everything else would have ended up, too. Mainly the fact that almost everyone I cared about was dead. McGee died taking the undercover mission with Jeanne that was meant for me. Gibbs killed Kort for revenge, got kicked out of NCIS. Kate and I managed to save Jenny from the shootout in LA, but she died of Huntington's a few years later, which destroyed Gibbs since they had gotten together somewhere in the interim. Gibbs finally ended up being killed by P2P instead of Franks, and then you..." He couldn't quite string the next couple of words together properly.

"Then I... what?"

"Well, Kate never died, so after the whole Ari debacle was over, you went back to Israel. And you stayed there. Only came back to the states once, and that was when you were interrogated concerning Rivkin," he said, voice dropping. "I was the one interrogating you, and it was one of the most... well,  _disturbing_ things I've ever seen."

Ziva's brow furrowed at this. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we were enemies," he said, trying to find a way to explain it to her that she would understand. Ziva wasn't really in touch with her emotions... of course, neither was he, but his trip to the Crossroads Cafe seemed to have turned him into a simpering mess of feelings. "You were on one side, I was on another. We hated each other. And then... Somalia..."

"If it had not been for you, McGee, and Gibbs, I would have died there. My father would not have sent anyone after me," Ziva said, catching on easily. "So, in this alternate world, the entire team is dead. Except for you. You and Kate."

Tony nodded dimly. "Yeah."

"This still does not explain how you know what my father said to me."

"Kate wasn't the only one who I met there. I talked to Jenny, talked to Mike Franks, I talked to my mom..." He let a small smile form on his face as he thought of his mother.

"You spoke to my father," Ziva surmised. He nodded in response. "And he told you about-"

"Yes," he said. "Yeah. We had words. He mentioned that, and then he offered me a 'gift'... he showed me what would have happened if I had left with Jeanne. If I had left the agency, left you guys." He finished off his water. "It wasn't pretty."

"What did you see?"

"Me, dead. Jeanne standing their with my daughter, looking over my grave. After that, your dad brought me back to the cafe, and Kate was waiting for me. She gave me a choice. I could have that alternate world with her and with my son, or I could go back. I could come back to you guys."

He was honestly surprised by the fact that he hadn't yet received a disbelieving stare from Ziva. She just listened to him intently. It made him feel a little less insane - proof or not, he was still telling her that he had spoken to the dead.

"I chose you." He blushed as he realized the implications of what he had just said. "I chose you guys," he amended, staring down at his clasped together hands. Suddenly, a smaller, olive toned hand covered his own. He lifted his gaze to meet Ziva's, and for a split second, he thought he saw her eyes take on a shiny quality.

"I am glad," she said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear her. The two of them sat there for a long moment before he turned up one of his hands to grip hers in return.

Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by the waiter returning with their meals. They both withdrew their hands, the waiter raising an eyebrow at them as he gave them their respective meals. They ate mostly in silence, Ziva occasionally inquiring further about his experience.

"So," he asked, mouth half-full of fried shrimp. "You believe me, then? Every word? Not even a little bit skeptical?"

Ziva picked at her food for a moment before she responded tentatively. "I have had a similar experience."

"Similar experience," he repeated, eyebrow raised. "Mind elaborating there, sweet cheeks?" He mentally counted that this had been the second time he had used the nickname since he had awoken in the hospital earlier that day.

"Yes," she said. "In Somalia. Shortly before the three of you arrived, I received a beating that was worse than what I had become accustomed to. It was nearly the end of me. I was dehydrated, starving, bleeding, my wounds were held together with dental floss-"

"I know," he cut her off, not welcoming the unpleasant memories of how Ziva had seemed when they had rescued her from Somalia. The torture she had befallen while in Africa still haunted him. "I remember."

"Yes... I thought I was going to die. I was very close to giving up. When you found me, I was ready to die, but before that, I had been begging for death, on my knees, pleading... and then my mother, Tali, and Ari came to me in a vision. My family. They told me not to give up, and that they loved me," Ziva sucked in a heavy breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. "Then they showed me something. It was you, McGee, and Gibbs landing in the airfield in Somalia. You clapped McGee on the back, and you said, 'Let's get her back'. And that... that gave me hope. It was small, but it was there, and so I held on. I recovered from my injuries and survived long enough for you to find me. So, I'm not surprised by what you've told me, no."

"You never told us," Tony observed tonelessly as he downed his pain medication with one last gulp of his water before the waiter came to give them their receipt. He was shocked - not because of what had happened to Ziva, but because he had said those exact words to McGee when they had landed in Somalia. It felt nice that he wasn't the only one who had been through something like this.

They paid for their meals, and they began walking back up to their hotel room.

"You have to understand, Tony, my subconscious blocked much of what happened in Somalia out. Only recently have some of the more vivid memories resurfaced," she told him, running a hand through her hair distractedly. He could tell he was stepping into uncharted waters. Ziva did not talk about Somalia. Period. End of story.

"That... kind of sounds like PTSD, doesn't it?" Tony suggested hesitantly.

"I have not been having flashbacks," she said tiredly. "Nor have I been having increased anxiety or night terrors. If my mind happens to drift in that direction, then I will often remember something that happened that I had previously blocked out."

"You've talked to someone about this, I'm guessing?" he asked as they stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the seventh floor where their room was located.

"Yes. When the memories became clearer, when they started coming back to me, I spoke to Ducky." She glanced sideways at him, catching the look on his face. "Tony, do not be bum hurt about this. Ducky is a professional, I did not want to burden you with-"

"Okay, stop right there," he said, holding up a hand and turning to her. "One, it's butt hurt, not bum hurt. Secondly, you're feelings, emotions, whatever - they're not a burden on me, Ziva. You're... I..." he fumbled over his words. _Come on, say it! Tell her! Grow some balls, DiNozzo!_ "Not in an elevator," he muttered, entirely to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"It does not matter now, anyway," she said, still looking at him oddly. "Most of what happened has come back to me. There are only a few gaps left in my memory, and I doubt I will ever regain them."

"Still," he insisted, looking at her seriously. "You know I'm always here for you, right?"

"I am not alone," she said, quoting him from months earlier. "I knew then, and I know now."

He nodded slowly as the elevator doors binged open. "Good."

Once they were back in the room, he collapsed once more onto his bed, but only after shedding his shoes and his ridiculous 'Hot Stuff' shirt. He didn't bother to crawl under his covers, just laid there, spread eagled. He heard Ziva's mattress squeak slightly as the other agent laid down on her own bed. "What time is it?" he asked, voice muffled.

"Eighty thirty."

"Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man-" he broke off and yawned loudly. Darkness closed in quickly, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

Tony awoke to a blazing pain in his chest. The first sound out of his mouth was a groan as his hand flew to his bandaged bullet wound, which was sticking to his skin, soaked in blood and sweat. "Oh shit." He winced at the pain, fumbling blindly in the dark for the lamp beside his bed, which Ziva must have turned off sometime during the night. The clock on the night stand informed him that it was four in the morning. After the light was illuminating the room, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and tried to stand, but was hit by another wave of agony and wooziness.

He clutched at his chest, looking at Ziva's sleeping form, curled up in a small ball on her side, looking quite small underneath the massive comforter that swaddled her. "Ziva," he called her name, his voice coming out more hoarse than he meant it to. "Ziva!"

Her eyes bolted open, and after the initial sleep-riddled confusion departed, she was immediately out of bed and in front of him. "What happened?" she asked evenly, bending down to examine his wound.

"I - I don't know," he managed. "But I'm losing blood."


	11. Dance, Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics to O Children belong to Nick Cave.

She peeled back his bandage, lips pursed, dark eyes narrowed.

"You have pulled a stitch," she said. "I may be able to suture it. There is a first aid kit in the bathroom. Can you walk?"

"I can try," he said, rising slowly from the bed with Ziva's help. She put one hand on the uninjured side of his chest, the other hooked under his armpit. He was extremely surprised she didn't make some comment about the sweat gathered there. Moving in a way that reminded him of a three-legged race, they made their way to the bathroom. He was seated carefully on the toilet, and Ziva removed his blood soaked bandage, discarding it in the nearby trashcan. She then handed him a paper towel. "Put pressure on the wound," she instructed.

"I know," he said, rather snappishly. "I had first aid training, too."

"Which I'm sure was nothing like the course I took," she replied. She dove into the first aid kit, rifling through things quickly, finding whatever she was looking for. It was a small suture kit. "Yes, here - I'll be able to suture it back together. This will hurt, I warn you."

"Sweet cheeks, I've been shot before, I think I can deal," he said, voice ragged. God, everything was getting fuzzy.

"You were grazed before, not hit directly in the chest," she said, eyebrows knitting together as she began to work on his injury. He didn't know what she was doing, because once he saw the sewing needle come out, he nearly lost his dinner. He stoically gazed up at the ceiling as Ziva set about her work. As she managed to close his wound once again, he started to become more coherent. After a few minutes, she nudged him gently. He looked down at her. She was patting a fresh bandage down across his chest. "There. You should be fine, though you really need to limit your movement as much as possible. If this tears again, I am not sure that I will be able to fix it."

He let out a deep sigh. "Thanks," he said honestly, and he meant it. If Ziva hadn't been able to fix him up, he would had to have gone to the emergency room, and who knows how much blood he would have lost in the mean time. Not to mention the fact that man, he really hated hospitals. Especially hospitals he wasn't used to. Ziva rose to her feet, washing Tony's blood off of her hands in the sink. "Guess I'm not going back to sleep."

"What time is it? I did not bother to check."

"It's a little after four. I've had eight hours of sleep, I'll be fine," he assured her, carefully standing up. His balance wasn't great, but he could probably walk on his own now, his body slowly beginning to recover from his blood loss.

"I will stay up with you," she said as she dried her hands. "I doubt I would be able to fall back asleep, anyway," she told him honestly.

"Awesome," Tony said, smiling at her as they walked back into the main part of the hotel room. He settled down on the loveseat, and Ziva sat down next to him. "So, what do you want to do first? Braid each other's hair? Paint our toenails? Talk about boys? Did you see that new tie on McGeek, wow..." He whistled comically loud. Ziva laughed in spite of herself. He stood up for a moment, moving forward to turn on the television. He decided to just settle on a music channel instead of going for a movie, since he had already seen all of the ones currently on paper view on multiple occasions.

Peaceful music played in the background, and he returned to the loveseat, leaning his head on the back. "It's been a crazy couple of days, huh?" he asked, the best conversation starter he could think of.

"It has been," she agreed. "For all of us."

"I feel bad for putting you guys through all of this. We've had a rough year, me getting shot on top of all of it is like the cherry on top of the crap sundae," he said, frowning slightly as he stared at the ceiling again. This would be the perfect opportunity to tell Ziva... they were alone... the hotel room was semi-romantic, minus the blood stained blanket on his own bed...

"Did you wake up yesterday knowing you were going to get shot?" Ziva asked, giving him a glare that held no actually animosity behind it. "Do not blame yourself, Tony. We were all very worried about you, that is all."

"I'm sure you were all leaning over my sickbed, crying hysterically, talking about what a wonderful person I was, and how the good always die young-" he was interrupted by Ziva covering his mouth with her hand.

"I love this song," she said, holding a finger in the air as she listened to the music.

" _Pass me that lovely little gun, my dear, my darling one. The cleaners are coming, one by one, you don't even want to let them start."_

"Pretty," Tony attempted to say, but it came out completely inaudible through Ziva's hand. Not enjoying his forced silence, he licked the palm of her hand. She withdrew with a muttered 'ugh' and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

"You are such a child," she said.

"Oh, you love me for it," he replied, grinning at her before rising from the loveseat. Ziva looked up at him, confused, and he offered his hand to her.

" _They are knocking now upon your door, they measure the room, they know the score, they're mopping up the butcher's floor of your broken little hearts."_

"Come on, Zee-vah. You said you loved this song. I've got groove." He swung his hips to prove his point. She looked at his hand for a long moment before hesitantly taking it. She stood up, and he placed his free hand on the small of her back, bringing her closer to him so that there was only a half an inch of space between their bodies. He smiled down at her as he began slowly moving them around the room in a circle, swaying with the beat of the music.

"Be careful not to-" she began, glancing down at his still bare chest and the fresh bandage over his wound.

"I know," he said quietly, hushing her worried protest.

" _O children, forgive us now for what we've done, it started out as a bit of fun. Here, take these before we run away, the keys to the gulag."_

He lost himself in the music, his eyes never leaving Ziva's. In the faint light of the one lamp that glowed warmly from his bedside, her brown eyes looked almost golden. Her dark locks were a mess, but he couldn't help but remove his hand from hers long enough to brush a stray strand from her eye. Instead of taking her hand again, he placed his hand on her hip. She put her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

He could hear her breathing, her scent was the only thing he could smell, and with their bodies pressed this close he was half-sure that he could hear her heart beating as well. The time was now.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you for awhile," he said quietly.

_"O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."_

"And what is that?" she asked, tilting her head up, looking at him like she was trying to read his mind through his eyes. He took several deep breaths. God, why was this so hard? Why was his heart thumping in his chest like a timpani? _I've jumped out of airplanes, been shot, kidnapped, tortured, survived the plague and kissed a transvestite - I can do this._

"We've been partners for almost eight years now," he began carefully, his voice still low as he swayed gently, Ziva in his arms. "And you should know... you mean a lot to me, Ziva. I don't think I'd be able to get by without you. I..." He leaned his forehead against hers, their noses brushing. "And the past few days have made me realize that I'm running out of chances to tell you this, and I don't know what the hell I would do if it was too late."

"Too late to tell me that I 'mean a lot to you'?" she questioned. "I already knew that, Tony. You mean a lot to me as well."

" _Here comes Frank and poor old Jim, they're gathering round with all my friends. We're older now, the light is dim, and you are only just beginning."_

"That's not what I'm trying to get across here," he said slowly. "There's something I should have told you a long time ago."

"Tony..."

"I love you."

He waited, holding his breath. She said nothing.

" _We have the answer to all your fears, it's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear. It's round about and it's somewhere here, lost amongst our winnings."_

His heart plummeted to his toes at her pointed silence, but he continued to turn with the music, gently brushing his thumb over the small of her back. He closed his eyes, deciding that he might as well enjoy his own rejection. At least she was still willing to dance with him. He supposed he should have expected this - perhaps she had been catching onto all of his hints, but had chosen to ignore them.

Or maybe he had just been too late, like he feared.

" _O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."_

Then, suddenly, he felt a warm pair of lips pressed firmly against his own. He opened up his eyes, as if to make sure that what he was feeling was real. Two golden-brown eyes stared back at him. A feeling of warmth spread through his wounded chest, he closed his eyes, and he placed one of his hands on her neck, tilting his head and opening his mouth to deepen their kiss. Ziva reciprocated.

They continued to turn with the music as they kissed. He mapped out her mouth, trying to reaquaint himself with every concave and convex from their undercover mission so many years ago. Almost eight years later, in another city, and another hotel room, they were kissing again. Honestly, this time, he felt like they were both completely different people than what they had started out as.

" _The cleaners have done their job on you, they're hip to it, man, they're in the groove, they've hosed you down, you're good as new, they're lining up to inspect you."_

He broke the kiss for a split second, just to look at her for a long moment and say the words that were still struggling to burst out. "I love you, I love you more than anything, and I want to be with you, and I don't why it took me so long, but I'm here now, and I'm saying it, and-"

He was cut off by another kiss, a tender one which only lasted for a few moments.

" _O children, poor old Jim's white as a ghost, he's found the answer that we lost. We're all weeping now, weeping because there ain't nothing we can do to protect you."_

She pulled back, and she placed her hands on either side of his face. He was surprised to find that her eyes were swimming with tears. "I love you too, Tony," she whispered, and he was soaring.

He returned to her mouth, his passion increased this time. By God, she _loved_ him - she loved him back and suddenly everything that could go wrong, everything that had gone wrong, all of the hurt feelings and secrets and baggage and issues all disappeared in one beautiful second, and it was just himself and Ziva, in each other's arms, still swaying, their lips locked, and he was half convinced that maybe he had actually died when he took that bullet for McGee. Maybe he was really in Heaven.

" _O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice, children. Rejoice, rejoice."_

For an indeterminable amount of time, they hung their, enwrapped in each other, letting all of their feelings finally show in the best way they knew how. The song that Ziva loved ended, and as the next few played. they moved to her bed. He laid down carefully, and she straddled him, hands on his shoulders. She leaned down, and he let his hands roam over her body hungrily as she occupied his mouth completely.

To his dismay, when his hand reached for the clasp of her bra, she halted him, pulling back from their kiss. "We cannot do this." Before his lips even had the chance to descend into a frown, she amended her statement. "Not tonight. I do not want to risk ripping open your wound again."

He thumped his head back against the pillow with a sigh. Unfortunately, he knew that she was right. There were certain activities that a gunshot victim should not get up to for at least a few days. "I am so getting payback on McGee for this," he said, and Ziva laughed, genuinely laughed. Carefully, he put his hands on her hips and flipped the two of them over, so he was on top of her. "I'm pretty sure bleeding to death is worth it," he said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss her again. Ziva broke it after a few moments.

"We could still sleep together," she offered. "Actually sleep," she added pointedly. He smiled warmly.

"I'd like that, but that runs the same risk," he said, nodding towards his bandaged chest. She ran her hands over the uninjured portion of his chest, leaning forward to place a light kiss on the bandage.

"You sleep," she said, looking back up at him. "I'll watch over you."

He laid down next to her, still holding her in his arms. "Just like an angel, huh?"

"I'm not sure that I'm much of an angel," she replied, and she kissed his forehead. "Just sleep, Tony. I will make sure that you don't toss and tear during the night."

"Toss and turn," he corrected automatically before reaching up and touching his lips lightly to hers. "I love you," he said again, easier the third time.

"I love you too," she replied, and he was pretty sure he would never get sick of hearing that. She laid down her head on the good side of his chest, snuggled into his side, and he played with her hair absentmindedly with his hand as Ziva's rhythmic breathing next to his ear lulled him to sleep.

* * *

He was awakened by the blazing spring daylight streaming through the tall windows of their hotel room, shining on his face and forcing his eyes open. He checked the time. Nine thirty. He had gotten another few hours of sleep, and with a warm body next to him, he had slept like a rock. He felt well rested and content as the memories of the night before entered his mind. He turned slowly to face Ziva, who, to his amazement, was still awake.

She was looking down at him, her head propped up by her arm, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Good morning," she said softly. He grinned at her.

"Morning, sweet cheeks," he replied, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. "You stay awake all night?"

"I told you I would watch over you," she said, as if that explained everything. He nodded dimly, running a hand up her back and lazily leaning his head onto her shoulder.

"Mhmm," he muttered, sighing and losing himself in the peace of the moment. He realized, of course, that he and Ziva would have to talk, they would have to both discuss what they wanted out of this relationship - which he realized he couldn't actually deem it that yet, since they hadn't discussed whether they were actually together. There would be challenges, there was rule twelve to overcome, and there were all manner of nightmarish things that could go horribly, horribly wrong, possibly ruining their friendship and their working relationship in one fell swoop.

He considered all of these things as he matched his breathing with Ziva's, placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, and closed his eyes again. His life wasn't perfect, and it never would be. Maybe he'd never get the dog and the yard, the perfect little family unit. But you know what? He was okay with that. Because if he'd learned anything over the past few days, it's that nothing was ever perfect, and you have to appreciate what you've got, because any moment you could lose it all.

He had his family. Gibbs, McGee, Ziva, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, Vance - all of NCIS. He had the family he loved, the woman he loved, the _life_ he loved, no matter its trials and tribulations. Laying there with Ziva, he was just happy to be alive. He decided that, unequivocally, he would make the same choice he had made in the Crossroads Cafe over and over and over again, because this life was everything he needed.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

_**FIN** _


End file.
